


Lethandhrel One-Eye: Dovahkiin

by ActuallyMin



Series: Lethandhrel One-Eye [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Amnesiac Protag, Dovahkiin - Freeform, Dragonborn - Freeform, Dunmer - Freeform, Elder Scrolls - Freeform, Gen, Skyrim - Freeform, Skyrim Main Quest, Violence, playthrough fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:22:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 84,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23783836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActuallyMin/pseuds/ActuallyMin
Summary: A Dunmer woman wakes, with no idea what is going on.
Series: Lethandhrel One-Eye [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713451





	1. Escaping Helgen

**Author's Note:**

> Instead of using the name 'Imperial' for the race, I'm using 'Cyrodiil' to make it easier to tell them apart from the faction. Expansions: Dawnguard, Hearthfire, and Dragonborn. Pretty much just a playthrough, hence the 'playthrough fic' tag. Any and all feedback and/or criticisms welcomed!

Pain. I feel myself coming around. I can't remember much of anything anymore. My name. My age. The chunk of Vvardenfell's eruption that took my left eye. Nothing more. I open my remaining eye to find I'm sat, hands tied, in a carriage with three similarly bound men, one wearing armour crossed with a blue sash, one dark-haired fellow in rags like my own, and one had also been gagged. Driving the carriage is an Imperial legionary, following another cart-full of soldiers wearing the same blue-crossed uniform as the blond Nord opposite me.

"Hey, you, you're finally awake!" he exclaims, when he notices my raised head. "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." He nodded to the ragged man.

"Damn you Stormcloaks! Skyrim was fine until you came along – Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and be halfway to Hammerfell!" the thief rants, then turns to me. "You there. You and me – we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants!"

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." The Nord responds.

"Shut up, back there!" The legionary calls over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on the bumpy, snow-covered road.

"And what's wrong with him, huh?" The thief adds, glaring at the gagged fellow.

"Watch your tongue!" cries the Stormcloak. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the Rebellion! But, if they've captured you...oh Gods, where are they taking us?" The failed robber sounds as though he is beginning to panic. I roll my eyes – I thought the men of Skyrim were tougher than this!

"I don't know where we're going," says the Nord, "but Sovngarde awaits."

"No, this can't be happening. This isn't happening!" Yep. Definitely panicking.

"Hey, what village are you from, horse-thief?" asks the Nord, after a pause.

"Why do you care?"

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

"Rorikstead." Stammers the thief. "I'm...I'm from Rorikstead."

I look up beyond the soldier to see a stone palisade come into view.

"General Tullius, sir!" A legionary atop the wall cries to the mounted man leading the procession. "The headsman is waiting!"

"Good." I hear him respond. "Let's get this over with." He turns aside past the walls.

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh, Divines! Please help me!" begs the wretched thief as we pass through the gates.

The Stormcloak twisted in his seat to glare at the general, who was conversing with a black robed Altmer.

"Look at him," he spat. "General Tullius, the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him, damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this."

We were being driven through a small jumble of half stone, half wooden houses, walled by an imperial fort. A light or recognition dawns in the Nord's eyes.

"Ah, this is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in? Funny; when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

"Who are they, Daddy?" comes a small voice from behind me. "Where are they going?"

I turn to see the villagers are watching us pass.

"You need to go inside, little cub." A man addresses the boy who had spoken.

"Why?" the lad asks, not moving from his perch on the steps up to the porch of the house. "I want to watch the soldiers!"

"Inside the house. Now." The father replies, sternly.

"Yes, Papa." The child sighs. As the cart turns, I lose sight of the pair.

"Whoa!" the soldier calls to the horse, and the cart rumbles to a stop next to the preceding one.

"Why are we stopping?" Whimpers the thief.

"Why do you think?" the Nord growls. "End of the line." He and the gagged Jarl stand. "Let's go. Shouldn't keep the Gods waiting for us."

"No, wait! We're not rebels!" The dirt-coated thief cries as the Jarl jumps off the carriage.

"Face your death with some courage, thief." Mutters the Stormcloak, as I follow the thief off the cart.

"You've got to tell them!" The thief says, a sheen of sweat on his brow as the pressure of the Stormcloak and myself behind him pushes him forward. "We weren't with you, this is a mistake!"

In front of us were two Imperial soldiers, one helmeted and wearing heavy armour, the other bare headed, bearing a ledger and a pen.

"Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time!" Orders the helmeted one.

"Empire loves their damned lists." Sighs the Nord behind me.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." Calls the lightly armoured man. Ulfric walks towards the growing group standing nearby.

"It has been an honour, Jarl Ulfric!" Says the Stormcloak, barely loud enough for me to hear.

"Ralof of Riverwood." The Nord leaves. "Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No!" The man I now know to be Lokir cries as he stumbles forward. "I'm not a rebel, you can't do this!" He began to run, past the soldiers and up the sloping street.

"Halt!" Cries the one I identify as the captain of the garrison as he passes, to no avail.

"You're not going to kill me!" Lokir boasts in his terror as he tears past the gathering of villagers and the soldiers protecting them.

"Archers!" Orders the Captain, and the thief was thrown to the ground by the force of several arrows thudding into his back. He didn't move.

"Anyone else feel like running?" The Captain asks.

"Wait, you there." The other soldier in front of me pauses, checking his book. "Step forward. Who are you?" He looks up, his blue eyes staring straight into my red one.

"I am Lethandhrel One-Eye, formerly of Balmora." That came as a revelation to me. It was an automatic response. My memories become a little clearer. I remember that it was fleeing Balmora as the Red Mountain exploded and destroyed the town when I was a girl, that I lost my eye, and gained the scar on my cheek and my name.

"Another refugee?" sympathises the legionary. "Gods really have abandoned your people, Dark Elf. Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list."

"Forget the list;" commands the Captain. "She goes to the block."

What? Why? I didn't come all this way just to die like a common criminal! I hadn't even done anything! All this runs through my mind in an instant.

"By your orders, Captain." The legionary turns back to me. "I'm sorry – we'll make sure your remains are returned to Morrowind. Follow the Captain, prisoner." I'm beginning to despise these Imperials. I totter after the Captain, my legs unsteady after who knows how long unused.

As I join the group gathered around the headsman's block in the middle of the courtyard, I see the Jarl being confronted by the general.

"Ulfric Stormcloak – some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his King and usurp his throne," the general growls. What did he mean, the Voice? What is he talking about?

Ulfric grumbles back, his response muffled by the tight linen covering his entire mouth. I'm thinking maybe it was a good thing too, considering!

"You started this war," continued Tullius. "Plunged Skyrim into chaos! Now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace!"

A distant roar makes everyone look into the almost cloudless blue sky.

"What was that?" Asks the legionary with the list.

Tullius glares at his men. "It's nothing. Carry on."

"Yes, General Tullius!" the Captain salutes, fist to heart, and turns to an orange-robed priestess standing behind the block, accompanied by a huge man wearing the sable hood of the executioner. "Give them their last rites."

The priestess steps forward and raises her hands to the sky. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines be upon you -"

"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with!" A red-headed Stormcloak interrupts her, striding toward the block.

"As you wish." Grumps the priestess, and she steps back, out of range of the blood. Oh Gods, I'm really going to die!

"Come on! I haven't got all morning!" the fire-haired warrior cries as she does so. As the Captain pushes him to his knees and bends him over the block, it occurs to me how silly his words sound. None of us have all morning – because we are going to be dead before the end of it! I push the rising panic down. Something has to happen to stop things!

"My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?" the doomed man cries as the headsman raises his axe, and with a resounding THWACK! The red-head is parted from his blue-sashed body. The Captain nudges the corpse aside with her boot, before stepping away and casting her steel gaze over the remaining people.

"You Imperial bastards!" cries a female voice from somewhere in the group with me.

"Justice!" calls a rough male voice from the crowd of villagers, followed by dulcet tones crying:

"Death to the Stormcloaks!"

"As fearless in death, as he was in life," murmurs a familiar voice beside me, and I turn my head to see that my other surviving carriage mate was standing beside me.

"Next, the Dark Elf!" the Captain cries, and my heart is beating so hard in my throat that I can barely breathe. Before I can move, however, the sky echoes with another resounding roar, this time seemingly much closer.

"There it is again!" exclaims the sympathetic legionary. "Did you hear that?"

"I said, next. Prisoner," the Captain growled through clenched teeth. My turn.

"To the block, prisoner," the Nord legionary tells me. "Nice and easy." I take a couple of steps and I'm suddenly standing over the bloody wooden chunk, the red hair of my predecessor almost glowing in the basket before it. I feel a gauntleted hand on my shoulder forcing me to my knees, then a boot on my back pushes me over. The ground rockets towards me, and I turn my head so the smell of blood doesn't directly fill my nostrils. Which, I soon realise, was a stupid thing to do, as now I have a marvellous view of the executioner as he hefts his axe above his head; slowly, as though savouring the moment.

Suddenly, another, extremely close, roar pierces the sky, and a dark, winged shape glides over the tower.

"What in Oblivion is that?!" exclaims the general behind me.

"Sentries, what do you see?" orders the Captain.

"It's in the clouds!" screams back a female voice, as a massive, winged lizard thing lands with a crash on the roof of the bastion.

"Dragon!" cries another voice. Dragon?! Those creatures are tales to scare the children with, surely! Stories! I'm still kneeling, head on the block, when the monster opens his mouth, and with a boom that knocked everyone off balance, including the headsman who had been continuing with his job as though nothing had happened, the sky erupts into massive flaming boulders.

"Don't just stand there!" the general's voice sounds through the chaos. "Guards – get the townspeople to safety!" Arrows are flying over my head now, most of them bouncing off of the dragon's scaly hide.

"What does it take to kill this monster?" cries on of the soldiers. I come to my senses when a rock smashes to pieces mere feet from my face, the chunks luckily missing me, and I begin to stumble to my feet, which is a very difficult thing to do with your hands tied together.

"Hey, Dark Elf!" The Stormcloak from the carriage calls from across the courtyard. "Get up! Come on, the Gods won't give us another chance! This way!" I follow him as he turns and dashes into the cover of a tower. He slams the door closed with his foot as I pass through, nearly catching my heels in the jamb. Inside are a couple of wounded Stormcloaks, huddled together in pain, and Ulfric Stormcloak, mouth ungagged but his hands still tied and his waist.

"Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing?" My new companion addresses him. "Could the legends be true?"

"Legends don't burn down villages." His voice was deep and commanding. I blinked – for some reason, I was expecting this man, who still held himself proudly and looked every inch the Jarl, to sound a little – make that a lot – like a bear. "We need to move, now!"

"Up through the tower!" my new friend cries, turning towards the stone stairs that made up half the wall. "Let's go!"

As I reach the mezzanine halfway up the tower, I can hear hurried scuffling. My head clears the floor to see two tattered Stormcloaks struggling to remove toppled stonework.

"We just need to clear these rocks -" one says, but before I can go to help, the wall bursts in, and as I duck, a huge, black-scaled head peers inside, opens its fanged mouth, and with a roar (which I swear has words in it), incinerated them both. The dragon takes off and continues his destruction of the fort as my rescuer and I reach the rock-strewn remains of the mezzanine. There is nothing I can do for the Stormcloaks but hope that the stonework killed them before the fire did. Flames are no way to die quickly.

"See the inn on the other side?" asks the Nord. "Jump through the roof and keep going!" I turn towards the gap in the roof. There's no way I'm going to be able to jump that gap! There's at least a 30 foot drop straight down from the hole, and the alley between the tower and the inn is at least five feet across.

"Go!" my fellow escapee cries. "We'll follow when we can!" And so I jump. And land on the remains of the top floor of the inn, jarring both my shins in doing so. At least I made it across! I glance back up toward the tower, but my erstwhile companion is out of sight - probably cutting his bonds on a rock or something. I jump down through the hole in the floor and jog through a hole in the wall, to find the soldier from the roll-call there, along with an older fellow sat on the ground. The legionary is at the mouth of the alley, beckoning the young boy and his father, who were pausing for breath in the middle of the street, towards him and the relative safety of the alley.

"Haming, you need to get over here!" he cries as they start forward again, the boy dashing forward as his father trips on a loose cobblestone and falls to the ground. "That a boy, you're doing great!" As the boy cowers next to the elder, the dragon crashes to the ground behind the father, causing him to lose his footing again.

"Torolf!" shouts the soldier. "Gods, everyone get back!" He ducks just in time, as the dragon breathes fire towards us, burning the poor struggling man to a crisp. Thank the Gods Haming didn't see his father's terrible death. The legionary notices me standing there, with what I am sure is a face depicting horror, both at what I had just seen, and newly discovered memories of Balmora, and the Foyada Mamaea running hot with molten lava, burning everything and everyone in its path.

"Still alive, prisoner?" he calls over the battlecries of the fighting soldiers and the roars of the murderous beast above. "Keep close to me if you want to stay that way! Gunnar," he turns to the people crouching behind him. "Take care of the boy! I have to find General Tullius and join the defence."

"Gods guide you, Hadvar," I hear the old man – Gunnar; I may as well learn their names, who knows who else will remember them? - say as we dash across the road.

We jump down off of the burnt remains of a wooden path behind a house. The soldiers on the stone wall above us are fighting bravely, but I already know there's no hope in saving Helgen now.

"It won't die, it just keeps coming!" laments one as we pass beneath.

"Stay close to the wall." Hadvar says as we come up to another alley between the ruins of two dwellings. Before we can sprint through, however, the dragon slams down onto the wall above us. This time, I could hear it shout.

"Yol Toor Shul!" it screams, and a torrent of orange flames gushes out of its mouth. The wind of its wings nearly threw me to the ground as it took off again. I'm beginning to respect this soldier, standing leaning into the massive draft, but I'm afraid I just cannot like him. Not after what the Imperials tried to do today.

"Quickly, follow me!" he cries, dashing off up the alley and through the cinders of the other ruined house. As we emerge on the other side, several soldiers are gathered.

"Use everything we have!" comes a cry from the covered wall above the gate ahead. In front of me, a townsman sits, doubled over.

"Tell my family I fought bravely..." he breathes as I pass.

"Come on, give me your hand – I'm getting you out of here!" One of the nearby soldiers says, but he is too late. I jump over the curled body of a woman, who, as I dash on, I realise is still barely alive.

"It's you and me, prisoner! Stay close!" Hadvar cries as we pass under an archway into the courtyard in front of the keep. On the other side, the dragon swoops, takes up a hapless soldier in its talons and drops him. Ouch.

"Ralof, you damned traitor! Out of my way!" I look down again to see who it is that Hadvar is barking at, and see the Stormcloak who first helped me running towards the keep.

"We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time!" he cries, pausing as he passes us.

"Fine!" Shouts Hadvar, the hatred obvious in his tone. "I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde! With me, prisoner, let's go!" He runs towards a smallish door nearby.

"You, with me! Into the Keep!" Ralof calls me. Great – a who-do-I-choose situation. I hate these ones. You know that someone is going to despise you no matter who you pick. Except this time, instead of hatred, it's a doubling of the chance of survival. It's too dangerous hanging around thinking though, so I head towards the closer of the doors – and so choose Ralof.

"Through here – let's go!" Ralof pushes open the doors and we bolt through, slamming them behind us in our hurry to be out of the dragon's sight. Ahead of us is a table, with the corpse of a Stormcloak lying next to it. Ralof crouches next to him.

"We'll meet again in Sovngarde, brother." He stands back up and pauses to catch his breath. "Looks like we're the only ones who made it. That thing was a dragon; no doubt. Just like the children's stories and the legends – the harbingers of the End Times!" Okay, now I'm worried. "We better get moving. Come here – let's see if I can get these bindings off." He pulls out a dagger and cuts the ropes around my wrists. Ahh, but it feels good to have to use of my hands back!

"There you go." Ralof sheathes the dagger. "You may as well take Gunjar's gear – he won't be needing it anymore." Wait, what? Wear a dead man's armour? The idea grosses me out, but anything will be better than these tattered ruins that I'm currently wearing. I awkwardly undress the stiffening body and take his axe and his small satchel too. I pause, reluctant to don the armour.

"Alright – get that armour on and give that axe a few swings. I'm going to see if I can find some way out of here." Ralof turns towards the iron gate in the wall of the tower base we are in. While he is occupied with examining the gate, I hurriedly climb into the armour, and test the balance of the axe. Seems good – the armour seems to be one-size-fits-everyone, it's not too heavy, but it is still rather uncomfortable, and in its tattered state, I'm not too sure about how protective it is.

Ralof grumbles under his breath. "This one's locked. Let's see about that gate." Opposite the iron gate is a wooden portcullis-type affair, blocking off another corridor. "Damn, no way to open this from our side."

As he pauses, thinking, the Captain from earlier and another soldier round the corner at the end of the corridor.

"It's the Imperials! Take cover!" Ralof ducks back behind the doorframe, and I do the same on the other side.

"Come on, soldier, keep moving!" The Captain cries, approaching the gate. "Get that gate open." The underling pulls a chain on the wall beside the grate and the wooden structure raises into the ceiling. No sooner had they passed through, than Ralof raises his axe and takes a swing at the soldier.

The Captain, drawing her sword, backs straight into me. She whirls around, swinging her blade, and I barely have time to raise the axe to block the steel. She obviously recognises me, and seemingly has decided to finish the execution. Now I am definitely fighting for my life. I dodge another swipe, and slam my axe into the soft flesh of her neck. With a spurt of blood, she gurgles to the ground, twitches a couple of times, then stops moving. I look to Ralof, who had taken out the other soldier and was sliding his axe into a loop on his belt.

I rummage through the Captain's hip-bag, and, seeing as her armour was in far better condition than that which I am currently wearing, I grit my teeth and swap my armour for hers. Wondering what to do with my discarded clothing, I notice that her little bag contains items that are larger than the bag itself. These little things must be magic! I stuff my rags and my Stormcloak armour into my satchel. It fits with plenty of room to spare. These little sacks are amazing!

"Did you find a key? See if it unlocks that door!" Ralof heads towards the iron gate. Yes, I did find a key, but curiosity overtakes me, and I follow the open corridor into a barracks room. I open a chest to find another key, which I take in case the one I had was for a different door – they look the same, but who can tell? I take the iron sword that hangs from a rack on a wall, some gold that I know I will need in the outside world, a book and some wine. Another chest holds more gold, and some armour, but I don't want to keep Ralof waiting any longer, so I head back and use the Captain's key to open the iron gate.

"That's it! Come on, let's get out of here before the dragon brings the whole tower down on our heads." We dash through, down some stairs and into a corridor. There are three Stormcloaks hanging around in the middle, but before we can join them, there is a great rumble, a roar – and the whole corridor collapses onto their heads.

"Look out!" cries Ralof, huddling away from the falling rock. He rises as the dust settles. "Damn. That dragon doesn't give up easy." I open the door on my left.

"Grab everything useful and let's move!" comes an authorative voice from inside. "Dragon's burning everything to the ground!" I step into the room to see two soldiers rummaging through a barrel.

"Just need to gather some more potions..." the other says, as the first looks up towards us.

"Stormcloaks!" he attacks with a cry. Blasted Imperials! It's either one of us or one of them with these people. They don't last long.

"A storeroom!" No, really? I hadn't noticed, Ralof. "See if you can find any potions – we'll need them."

I search around the entirety of the area, taking some ingredients, meat – I'm beginning to get a bit hungry; I'll cook it later – some more wine, gold, and some potions, most of which were in the barrel the soldiers had prised open.

"Done? Let's get moving."

Further on through the keep, there came the echoes of a struggle. We round a corner, reaching some steps down into a bloody room, with three cages and an enclosed corner.

"Troll's blood – it's a torture room! Hear that? Come on!" Ralof cries, rushing towards the battle. We're too late, though – we arrive just as the Torturer is withdrawing his blade from the last of his previous opponents. He and his assistant rush towards us, hatred twisting their crimson-splattered features. Needless to say, they last about as long as the soldiers from the storeroom. These two bested those Stormcloaks?

"Shor's bones. We were too late." Ralof rises from checking the bodies of his comrades. "Damn the Empire! Wait a second – looks like there's something in this cage!" He walks up to the middle cage and rattles the door, grumbling. "It's locked. See if you can get it open with some picks." He offers me a handful of lockpicks. "We might need that gold once we get out. Grab anything useful and let's go."

I take the opportunity to raid the rest of the room, gaining three more books, some more picks, potions, a couple of daggers and some gold. I decide to practice my thievery on the other cages in the room before having a go at the one Ralof was interested in. The locks soon fall open. Inside the middle cage, I profit – gold, potions and a spell tome for a spell I already know. No matter – spell books sell for more than their entertaining cousins.

"This way." Ralof leads me down a short corridor lined with iron-barred cells. Two of the gates are already open, and I use the other two to hone my lockpicking skills. Inside the last one, I find a small purse of gold and some bonemeal, which I collect to sell on later. We continue on to a room, with raised stone platforms bridging the babbling brook that ran through the middle. Dotted throughout the room are Imperial legionaries, who are arguing when we enter.

"Orders are to wait until General Tullius arrives."

"I'm not waiting to be killed by a dragon! We should fall back!" The argument is brought to an abrupt end as Ralof roars past me, already swinging his axe. What is he thinking? It is too late to do anything now. Besides, I have definitely had enough with these single-minded Cyrodiils. I rush to the other side of the room and use a flame spell to ignite a patch of oil that two of the dumb archers are paddling in. With a 'whoomph!' the men topple to the ground. I spin, raising my axe, to discover Ralof finishing off the last one. How weak are these people? I rummage through their belongings, taking the arrows, a bow and the daggers I find.

I follow Ralof down a short corridor which ends in a raised drawbridge.

"Let's see where this goes." Ralof mutters, pulling the lever. The drawbridge slams down, and we dash across – just in time, as with an accompanying roar from the dragon outside, the roof crashes down through the wooden bridge.

"No going back that way now." Ralof states the obvious again. "We'd better push on – the rest of them will have to find another way out." If there are any others left alive. Instead of following him, however, I jump down into the gap revealed by the broken bridge and follow a small tunnel to an intersecting area where the stream has gouged a path through the stone. Opposite me is a skeleton, a potion clutched in its hand and a purse next to it. I travel along the stream, through a broken grill and into the cavernous area where Ralof is waiting, beckoning me on. We both continue down the stream, finding its path almost blocked by fallen rocks. Another purse lies on a nearby ledge, so I grab it as Ralof inspects the mossy stone.

"Hmm, that doesn't go anywhere." Ralof turns to the side passage behind me. "I guess we better try this way." And off he goes, with me close behind, beginning to wonder where this blasted cave system ends – or even if it ends...

As we turn the corner in the corridor, I notice that the next room is coated in cobweb, and a couple of large spiders sit there, waiting. I hate spiders – they just have too much of everything! As I swing my axe at one, flame spouting from my palm toward another, two larger ones descend from the ceiling. Ew – that one touched me! Soon, the abominations lay in a charred heap at my feet. Their fangs are still dripping venom, however, so I collect a couple of vials of it – it might come in useful later.

"I hate those things." Ralof comments as he passes. "Too many eyes, you know?" I do indeed. I prise open a couple of egg cases and take a couple to use as ingredients later.

We follow a passage – free of cobweb, I'm pleased to discover – into a large area dissected by the brook. Crossing a stone bridge, I take a coinpurse from beneath a cart as Ralof draws to a halt.

"Hold up – there's a bear just ahead. See her? I'd rather not tangle with her right now. Let's try to sneak by. Just take it nice and slow, and watch where you step. Or if you're feeling lucky, you can take this bow – might take her by surprise." Okay, I'm not going to say no to his offer of a longbow and some arrows. I can always use more arrows, and the extra bow can easily be converted into gold at the nearest store!

Carefully, only taking my eyes off the bear to watch my footing, I sneak along the wall of the cavern, Ralof quietly following. A couple of times I have to pause as the bear yawns, or stretches a powerful limb.

"Almost there..." Ralof mutters. This would be easier without the commentary, but I am glad of the company in case the ursine beast wakes up and decides to make us breakfast. And not of the 'porridge for everyone' kind.

"Phew! That was close." We make it to yet another corridor, this one lined with the blood of the bear's previous meals. This one, however, ends with snow, bright light and a cool breeze.

"That looks like the way out!" I decide not to comment. "I knew we'd make it!" Ralof dashes into the bright sunlight. I emerge from the murky passage and look to the sky, to realise that it's only midday. It felt like we'd been down that hole several weeks! As I stand in dazzled surprise, a dark shape passes over the sun.

"Wait!" Ralof takes cover behind a rock, but the dragon has already passed, heading between the mountains northwards. "There he goes." Ralof says as he straightens. "Looks like he's gone for good this time. No way to know if anyone else made it out alive, but this place is going to be swarming with Imperials soon enough." He starts off down the track. "We'd better clear out of here."

Following his sturdy back, I'm wondering what to do next when he calls over his shoulder:

"My sister, Gerdur, runs the mill in Riverwood, just up the road – I'm sure she'd help you out." That answers my question. "It's probably best if we split up. Good luck. I wouldn't have made it without your help today." No way am I going out into the unknown on my own just yet. Besides, what if the road forks? How would I know which turn to take?

Ralof doesn't seem to mind the company. "You know, you should go to Windhelm and join the fight to free Skyrim. You've seen the true face of the Empire here today." Damn right! "If anyone will know what the coming of the dragon means, it's Ulfric." We finally reach the road, but before we get far along it, Ralof stops and points out a dark stone structure on the side if the mountain across the valley from where we stood.

"See that ruin up there? Bleak Falls Barrow. I never understood how my sister could stand living in the shadow of that place. I guess you get used to it." We continued down the road. Around a corner, the road began to descend into the valley, through which a wide river twisted, lined with tall pine trees. The road bent again, and at the peak of the twist we find three tall stones, each carved with an image of a man – one heavily armoured and wielding an axe; one robed, with a long beard, pointed hat and tall staff; and the last hooded, waving two daggers.

"These are the Guardian Stones." Explains Ralof. "Three of the thirteen standing stones that dot Skyrim's landscape. Go ahead – see for yourself."

Okay, not entirely sure what he meant by that. I approach the middle stone, the one with the robed figure, and raise a hand to touch the rough surface. As soon as my ashen-skinned digits prod the stone, the etching begins to glow, and an eerie blue beam blasts into the sky. Suddenly I feel more adept at magic.

"Mage, eh?" Ralof says, seeming surprised. "Well, to each his own – it's not for me to judge." He starts off further down the road. I follow, perplexed – what did he mean by that comment? It's not like I knew what the stone would do.

"Remember, this isn't Stormcloak territory." Ralof says, pausing for me to catch up. "If we're ahead of the news from Helgen, we should be fine as long as we don't do anything stupid. If we run into any Imperials, just let me do the talking, alright?" As soon as he finishes his sentence, three wolves leap from atop a rocky outcrop, teeth bared in a hungry snarl. What happened to wolves not attacking people? Obviously the wolves of Skyrim follow very different rules. We quickly dispatch them, and I skin them, partly as revenge for their attack.

"I'm glad you decided to come with me." Ralof calls as we round a fallen log. "We're almost to Riverwood." A few steps later, a palisade similar to the one ringing the stricken town we had just escaped, came into view. This wall, however, only seemed to serve as a marker point for the edge of the road, as it began a few feet away on one side, and stopped an equal distance from the other. Beyond were buildings built in the same style as the ones in Helgen were, one even with a second storey, a balcony running around three of its sides.

"Looks like nobody here knows what's happened yet." Comments Ralof as we pass beneath the border wall. "Come on, Gerdur's probably working in her lumber mill." As he turns off the path to cross a wooden bridge to an island in the river on which sat the expanse of the mill, I paused to eavesdrop as an elderly woman called out to a younger Nord walking past.

"A dragon! I saw a dragon!" She cries, stopping the honey-haired male in his tracks.

"What? What is it now, Mother?"

"It was as big as a mountain, and black as night. It flew right over the barrow!"

Her son wasn't impressed. "Dragons, now, is it? Please, Mother, if you keep on like this everyone in town will think you're crazy, and I've got better things to do than listen to more of your fantasies."

"You'll see." The elder replies indignantly. "It was a dragon! It'll kill us all and then you'll believe me!" I quickly dash along the wooden bridge before anyone can see that I was listening in.

I catch up to Ralof as he approaches a pretty blonde woman who is currently chopping up firewood.

Gerdur!" He calls out, and she looks up, her lined eyes lighting up upon sight of her tired sibling.

"Brother! Mara's mercy, it's good to see you!" She straightened, tucking the axe into the satchel that everyone seems to wear at their belt, and rushed towards us, a smile fighting with the worry evident in her sky blue eyes. "But is it safe for you to be here?"

"Gerdur..." Ralof sighs.

"We heard that Ulfric had been captured..." She trailed off, relief chocking off the rest of the sentence.

"Gerdur, I'm fine." Ralof reassures. "At least, now I am."

"Are you hurt? What happened?" Gerdur asks, then notices me standing beside her brother. "And who's this? One of your comrades?" What? I'm wearing full Imperial armour! Though, I suppose, I could be counted as that...

"No, not a comrade yet, but a friend." Ralof grins. "I owe her my life, in fact. Is there somewhere we can talk? There's no telling when the news from Helgen will reach the Imperials..."

"Helgen?" puzzled, Gerdur takes a small step back. "Has something happened?" She shakes her head. "You're right, follow me. Hod – come here a minute! I need your help with something!" She calls towards the mill, heading toward a small clearing punctuated with a large, rain-stained stump.

"What is it, woman?" Came another, deeper Nordic burr from within the covered building. "Sven drunk on the job again?" A large, golden-topped bear of a man dressed in a simple white shirt and dark trousers walks into view.

"Hod, just come here." Gerdur sighed in response.

"Ralof! What are you doing here? Ah – I'll be right down!" Hod disappears into the shadows again, and I jog to catch up with Ralof and his sister, as a young boy followed by a scruffy wolfhound almost as tall as him bolt across another wooden bridge.

"Uncle Ralof!" Cries the lad excitedly. "Can I see your axe? How many Imperials have you killed? Do you really know Ulfric Stormcloak?"

"Hush Frodnar!" Urges Gerdur. "This is no time for your games. Go and watch the south road; come find us if you see any Imperial soldiers coming."

"Aww, Mama, I want to stay and talk with Uncle Ralof!" The child whines.

Ralof turns to the boy. "Look at you, almost a grown man! Won't be long before you'll be joining the fight yourself!"

"That's right!" Frodnar seems unhealthily attracted to the idea of killing people. "Don't worry, Uncle Ralof, I won't let those soldiers sneak up on you!" He dashes away, the hound barking and trotting joyously after.

Hod strides up from the mill as Ralof lowers himself onto the stump. I stand nearby, uncertain of what to do, then give up and stay on my feet.

"Now, Ralof, what's going on? You two look pretty well done in." he rumbles as he comes closer.

"I can't remember when I last slept..." Ralof sighs, staring at the ground as he collected his thoughts. "Where to start? Well, the news you heard about Ulfric was true. The Imperials ambushed us outside Darkwater Crossing – like they knew exactly where we'd be. That was...two days ago, now. We stopped in Helgen this morning, and I thought it was all over. Had us lined up to the headsman's block and ready to start chopping."

"The cowards!" Exclaims Gerdur.

"They wouldn't dare give Ulfric a fair trial." Ralof continues. "Treason, for fighting for your own people! All of Skyrim would've seen the truth then. But then - out of nowhere – a dragon attacked."

Gerdur gasps. "You don't mean a real, live -"

"I can hardly believe it myself, and I was there. As strange as it sounds, we'd all be dead if not for that dragon. In the confusion, we managed to slip away. Are we really the first to make it to Riverwood?"

"Nobody else has come up the south road today, as far as I know." Gerdur replies.

"Good." Ralof stretches his back. "Maybe we can lay up for a while. I hate to put your family in danger, Gerdur, but..."

"Nonsense. You and your friend are welcome to stay here as long as you like. Let me worry about the Imperials." She looks at me. "Any friend of Ralof's is a friend of mine." She approaches and holds out her hand, pressing a key into mine.

"Here's a key to the house – stay as long as you like. If there's anything else you need, just let me know."

"Thanks." I croak, realising that's the first sound to come out of my mouth since before I was captured, I'm sure.

"There is something you can do for me – for all of us here." What does Gerdur want me to do? "The Jarl needs to know if there's a dragon on the loose. Riverwood is defenceless. We need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun to send whatever troops he can. If you'll do that for me, I'll be in your debt." She turns back to Ralof before I can even ask the way.

"Thanks sister. I knew we could count on you."

"I ought to get back to work before I'm missed," worries Gerdur. "but did anyone else escape? Did Ulfric..?"

"Don't worry, I'm sure he made it out. It'll take more than a dragon to stop Ulfric Stormcloak."

"I'll let them into the house and, you know, show them where everything is..." Hod suggests.

Gerdur smiles lovingly back. "Hmm – help them drink up our mead you mean. Good luck, brother. I'll see you later." She walks back toward the mill as Ralof rises from his rotting perch.

"Don't worry about me – I know how to lay low." He reassures her, heading across the bridge into town.

I take a small detour to pick up a spare woodcutter's axe – it might come in handy if I need to work for money later on – then head toward the two-storey building, from which hangs a wooden sign proclaiming it to be 'The Riverwood Trader'. As I enter, the proprietor is having an argument with a pouting dark-haired young woman.

"Well, one of us has to do something!" she says.

"I said no!" the shopkeeper cries. "No adventures, no theatrics, no thief-chasing!"

"Well, what are you going to do then, huh?" retorts the girl. "Let's hear it!"

"We are done talking about this." The owner finally notices me trying to keep out of the brunt of proceedings while also trying not to seem to be – a difficult feat! "Oh, a customer. Sorry you had to hear that." The man looks at me with the same dark eyes as the girl I assume to be his younger sister. "I don't know what you overheard, but the Riverwood Trader is still open! I am Lucan Valerius, proprietor. Feel free to shop."

"What have you got for sale?" With each word I'm becoming more and more accustomed to speech.

"Take a look." Lucan gestured to the items on the shelves behind him. I look, but I don't see anything I believe I can afford or that I need.

"Actually, I'm looking to sell some things. I'm a bit light on coin at the moment."

"No problem. What is it that you wish to sell?" Lucan assesses each item I unload from my bag, then counts out a reasonable amount of gold, which I accept and add to my purse.

"Did something happen?" I ask as I tuck the purse back into my small satchel.

"Uh, yes, we did have a bit of a, uh, break in. But we still have plenty to sell!" Lucan assures me. "Robbers were only after one thing. An ornament, solid gold, in the shape of a dragon's claw."

Sensing a quest, and finding myself eager for the adventure, I respond:

"I could help you get the claw back."

"You could?" He sounds surprised! "I've got some coin coming in from my last shipment. It's yours if you bring my claw back. Now, if you're going to get those thieves, you should head to Bleak Falls Barrow, northeast of town." His sister behind me says something, but I miss what it is that she says.

"Yes!" Lucan, obviously, didn't. "So now you don't have to go, do you?"

"Oh really?" She responds scathingly. "Well I think your new helper here needs a guide."

Lucan is speechless. "Wha – no, I – oh, by the Eight, fine! But only to the edge of town!"

The woman sighs, rises from her seat and leaves the shop, leaving me to follow of my own accord. Outside, the sun still shines brightly.

"We have to go through town and across the bridge to get to Bleak Falls Barrow." She explains. You can see it from here, though – the mountain just over the buildings. I'm Camilla, by the way." She starts down the road towards the other side of the village. "Those thieves must be mad, hiding out there. Those old crypts are filled with nothing but traps, trolls and who knows what else! I wonder why they only stole Lucan's golden claw? I mean, we have plenty of things in the shop that are worth just as much coin. Lucan found the claw about a year after he opened the store. He never quite explained where he got it – he's a tricky one."

We reach the bridge as she speaks, and she stops. "This is the bridge out of town. The path up the mountain to the northwest leads to Bleak Falls Barrow. I guess I should get back to my brother. He'll throw a fit if I take too long. Such a child..." She heads back into town, leaving me to my own devices.

I don't think I want to go to Bleak Falls Barrow just yet, with what Camilla said about trolls. Nasty brutes, trolls. Hard to kill unless you know a good flame spell - stops them regenerating. I cross the bridge and notice a signpost saying that Whiterun is along the main road, which I proceed to follow. Jogging along, a wolf springs out at me, so I swing my axe and cut the violent creature's throat open. Using this cut to skin the creature, I stuff the pelt into my bag and continue on, past a trio of Imperial soldiers escorting a bound Nord in rags to I don't want to know where. I don't pause, even when I pass a building with a sign at the road that tells me I've just found the Honningbrew Meadery. In a nearby farm, though, I see a giant beleaguered by three warriors is strange armour, two swinging greatswords and the female peppering the tall man-like creature with arrows. The giant is felled before I can try and lend a hand, though. The woman, war paint striping her face, closes the distance between us, a look crossed between joy and disappointment.

"Well that's taken care of, no thanks to you."

"You didn't look like you needed help." I try and defuse the situation – if they can take down a giant, they won't find me too difficult.

"Certainly not, but a true warrior would've relished the opportunity to take on a giant." Phew – so that's why she seems disappointed in me. "That's why I'm here, with my Shield-Brothers."

I notice the emphasis she put on the title she gave her companions. "What is a Shield-Brother?"

"An outsider, eh?" Is it that obvious? "Never heard of the Companions? An order of warriors, brothers and sisters in honour, and we show up to solve problems, if the coin is good enough." Sounds like a good thing to be a part of.

"Can I join you?" I ask, sounding like an eager child asking to play with the big kids. Sigh.

"Not for me to say." Responds the painted archer. "You'll have to talk to Kodlak White-Mane up in Jorrvaskr. The old man's got a good sense for people. He can look in your eyes and tell your worth. If you go to him, good luck." With that, she ends the conversation, and the group walks away.

I continue down the road. The city has been in view for some time now, so I can't get lost. Be rather embarrassing if I did! I follow the road past a stables, along the twisting entryway and across the drawbridge. As I approach the large wooden gates, I am stopped by one of the gate guards.

"Halt!" he calls. "City's closed with the dragons about. Official business only." I am on official business – kind of.

"I have news from Helgen about the dragon attack."

"Fine." He signalled toward the wall, and the gate began to open behind him. "But we'll be keeping an eye on you." He returned to his post, and I entered Whiterun.

The city was quiet at this time of evening – the sun was setting, the sky slowly darkening. A man wearing the armour of the Imperials was arguing with a woman wearing a blacksmith's apron outside the first building of the town.

"We'll pay whatever it takes, but we must have more swords for the Imperial soldiers." The man was saying, putting his fists on his hips.

"I just can't fill an order that size on my own." The smith responds. "Why don't you swallow that stubborn pride of yours and ask Eorland Grey-Mane for help?"

"Ha! I'd sooner bend my knee to Ulfric Stormcloak! Besides, Grey-Mane would never make steel for the Legion." Seems the divide in politics in this frozen country runs very deep for some.

"Have it your way." The woman sighs, straightening from leaning against a post. "I'll take the job, just don't expect a miracle." The two parted, one heading up the street to my right, the other entering the shop behind her. I follow the road up to a market, and the inn looks very enticing, but I have a job to do. I never did cook that meal for myself – I even sold the meat and ingredients at the Riverwood Trader. Instead, I turn right, climb up some stairs and enter another circular area, centred by a massive dead tree. A temple stands opposite me on the left of a path up towards a castle, and on the other side of that path is an open-air shrine, backed by a large statue of Talos, spearing a large serpent-like creature with his mighty blade. Up another set of stairs is a building, the roof of which seems to be a wooden ship! I head towards the castle.

"Welcome to Dragonsreach." Proclaims a guard as I open the door and step into the warm interior. The throne lies on the other side of the great hall, up some steps and past two long banquet tables. Seated on the magnificent seat is a finely dressed man, whom I assume to be Jarl Balgruuf, but before I can approach, I am stopped by a fellow Dunmer, wearing well-kept leather armour and brandishing a sword in my face.

"What's the meaning of this interruption?" She demands. "Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors." Behind her, the Jarl and another fellow pause in their conversation and look our way.

"I have news from Helgen about the Dragon attack." I repeat my statement from before.

"Well, that explains why the guards let you in." Sheathing her blade, the dark-haired elf stands aside. "Come on then – the Jarl will want to speak to you personally."

As I approach the throne, the Jarl speaks.

"So, you were at Helgen? You saw this dragon with your own eyes?"

I bow my head. "The dragon destroyed Helgen, and last I saw it was heading this way."

"By Ysmir, Irileth was right!" He turns his attention back to the other man. "What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?" I consider leaving, but something tells me that I should linger just a little longer.

"My lord," requests the elf. "we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger, if that dragon is lurking in the mountains..."

The man addressed as Proventus speaks over her. "The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him."

"Enough!" the Jarl halted the argument before it began. "I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people! Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once."

"Irileth put a hand to her heart. "Yes, my Jarl." She left, running down the hall and out the door.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll return to my duties." Proventus also left, leaving me and the Jarl alone.

"That would be best." The Jarl turned his attention back to me. "Well done. You sought me out on your own initiative." Well, not quite. At the urging of Gerdur, actually. "You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it. Here, take this as a small token of my esteem." He holds out a cuirass, which I take and examine. It is Imperial armour, similar to that worn by the legionaries at Helgen, only this has chainmail on the shoulders. I stash it in my satchel, resolving to sell it later, as I am comfortable in the armour I currently wear.

"There is another thing you can do for me." Balgruuf continues. "Suitable for someone of your particular talents, perhaps." Okay, I'm unsure where this is going, but I'll go along with it. "Come. Let's go find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons, and...rumours of dragons." He rises from the throne and leads me to a room off the right-hand-side of the hall. This room has an alchemy lab and an enchanting table inside – my memory is getting clearer, but there is still much that is hidden from me – and dominated by a large table, at the end of which stands a board with a map of Skyrim pinned to it. Behind the table stands a Nord, most of his sideburned face hidden by the blue cowl he wears.

"Farengar, I think I've found someone who can help you with your dragon project." The Jarl gestures towards me, and the wizard directs his shadowed gaze at me. "Go ahead and fill her in with all the details."

Farengar rounded the end of the table. "So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me? Oh, yes, he must be referring to my research into the dragons. Yes – I could use someone to fetch something for me." Ah – so that is what Balgruuf meant when he referred to my 'particular talents'. Must be the armour. "Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there." Great. More killing. Still, it seems important, so I'm reluctant to say no. Especially when I seem to be rather good at this 'adventuring' thing.

"Alright." I agree. "Where am I going and what am I fetching?"

"Straight to the point, eh?" Farengar grins. "No need for the tedious hows and whys. I like that – leave those details to your betters, am I right?" I'm unsure whether to be insulted at that, so I let it slide. "I, ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow." Is everything in that place?! "A 'Dragonstone' said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet – no doubt interred in the main chamber – and bring it to me. Simplicity itself." Has this man ever been on a dungeon-delve? Clearing out a dungeon is no easy feat, as evidenced by the many tales of explorers heading off to a far off place, never to be seen again. Oh well, two birds with one stone, I guess. I can retrieve the golden claw and grab this Dragonstone in one trip.

"This is a priority now." Balgruuf comments. "Anything we can use to fight this dragon, or dragons, we need it quickly, before it's too late."

"Of course, Jarl Balgruuf." Replies Farengar. "You seem to have found me an able assistant. I'm sure she will prove most useful." What am I, a farmer's rake? A sword? I'm a living, sentient being, you know!

Balgruuf returns his attention to me. "Succeed at this and you'll be rewarded. Whiterun will be in your debt." Well, I suppose that's alright then.

I leave the two, exiting Dragonsreach and returning to the marketplace, turning toward the welcoming doors of a building proclaiming to the weary traveller that it is 'The Bannered Mare'. I step inside.

"Come on in – just stoked the fire." Calls the innkeeper across the room. "Take a seat and get the cold out." I sit, and no sooner have I done so than a Redguard maid appears at my shoulder.

"You want a drink?" Not the most polite of maids, either.

"What's on the menu?" I and my stomach ask together.

"Depends. Are you thirsty, hungry, both?" She hands me a sheet of paper. I choose a salmon steak, a baked potato, with a sweetroll for after and an ale to wash it down. The food is cooked to perfection, and I gulp it down before it barely has time to cool. The ale is wonderfully cold by comparison, saving my throat from being burnt. I finish the sweetroll – delicious, as all food is on a long-empty stomach – and head to the bar.

"Speak, elf." Not as polite as her welcome, but I'm sleepy now, so I don't care.

"I'd like to rent a room."

"Sure thing. It's yours for a day. That'll be ten gold, please." I pay her the price. She rounds the end of the bar and begins to cross the common room. "I'll show you to your room – right this way."

I follow her up a set of stairs to a large room, dominated by a very comfortable looking bed. An open doorway leads to a balcony overlooking the common room. Beneath me, the bard has struck up a tune, leading the patrons in a chorus of 'Ragnar the Red'.

"Let me know if there's anything else you need." The innkeeper suggests as she leaves. Ignoring her, I flop onto the bed, not even bothering to remove my armour.


	2. Bleak Falls Barrow

I awake on the floor, the dream finally ending. Why would I imagine that horror? Luckily, the memory of my flying destruction is fading. I feel like I'm covered in bruises – sleeping in heavy armour is not something I'm going to repeat. I use the bed to haul myself off of the floor, and descend to the common room. I'm too nervous about the task ahead to eat, so I instead nod to the innkeeper and head out the door towards the city gates.

At the guardhouse just inside the gates, I pause.

"The Jarl has finally agreed to send you back to Riverwood." Irileth informs a group of guards hanging around outside. Obviously Riverwood's danger wasn't immediate enough that it couldn't wait until morning.

"Yes, Housecarl." Responds one. "We'll leave immediately."

"It's just us against a dragon, is that it?" Another worries.

"I can't afford to send anyone else, and we don't know where the dragon is." Irileth explains. "Your main job will be to keep an eye out and get the people to safety if the town is attacked. I don't expect the three of you to fight off a dragon by yourselves, but I do expect you to do your duty."

"Of course. We'll keep Riverwood safe, you can count on it. Let's move out. Time's a-wasting." The three guards jogged through the gates.

I follow, to discover a Khajiit trading caravan has set up outside town overnight. I decide to use their services before continuing to the barrow.

"Ri'saad welcomes you. Need something?" growls the seated cat.

"What have you got for sale?"

He gestures towards the interior of his tent. "Take a look."

I purchase some lockpicks and sell the cuirass the Jarl had given me.

"May your road lead you to warm sands." The Khajiit says in farewell as I thank him and start off down the road.

The journey back along the road is uneventful, the only other traveller I meet a nobleman on a horse being escorted by an Imperial. I soon reach the bridge to Riverwood, but instead of crossing to the welcoming town, I turn up the other path that twists up the mountain. I haven't gone far when a growling hunk of fur launches itself at me, and, without thinking, I drag my axe from my waist and slash with all my strength. The wolf howls in pain, and lands with a thump at my feet. I skin it, then switch to using the longbow.

Beyond the snowline, I come across a watchtower, inhabited by a small group of men. Before I can greet them, however, one pulls out his sword and charges at me, yelling that I'd be easier to rob if I was dead. That is something I do not intend to be for another couple of centuries, at least.

Raising my bow, I draw an arrow to my cheek. The first shot slams into his shoulder, and he grunts, but continues his speedy approach. My next arrow stops him mid-stride, taking him in the throat.

I barely have time for pride in my shooting, however, as an arrow similar to mine thunks into my side. I feel the pain, but faintly, as I am consumed by bloodlust. I launch another shaft in his direction, but it is intercepted by another blade-swinging man. He roars, but continues. I draw another arrow to my cheek, aiming carefully. His blade never touches me, and my next attack takes the archer right through the heart. I rejoice in the victory, but as my heart slows back to its normal rhythm, I am shocked at myself. How can I possibly take so much joy from ending the lives of others, even if those others would've happily finished mine? These thoughts don't stop me looting their bodies though, after pulling out the arrow carefully and healing myself. I tuck their weapons into their satchels so passing creatures don't hurt themselves, and climb the tower looking for more loot. There isn't much, just some food and ingredients in some barrels, but there is a chest with some gold and a couple potions at the top. I see some ore at the bottom of the tower, so I climb back down and use the pickaxe I took off one of the corpses to mine it – ore can be valuable.

I continue along the path, and the great ruinous barrow comes into view through the cold mist. It is very deserving of its name. The wind moans around the grey stone, and I see the shapes of people wandering around. I decide I won't be as trusting as I was before, so I crouch down and sneak toward the steps up to the great doors. The people are obviously part of the group that broke into the Riverwood Trader, so I nock an arrow, and send it flying toward the girl guarding the doors. She cries as she falls, alerting her two companions, who draw their formidable weapons and come searching for me. I manage to fell another before they see me, and drawing my axe, I holster my bow and charge in. I duck his blow, my axe glancing off his chest, and while I'm low I knock him off his feet, then straighten and send my axe slamming into his skull, chopping it open with a sickening crack. I use the fur of his armour to clean my blade, and I bag his warhammer and any valuables he and his companions carry. The girl had a bow that looks to be stronger than the one I currently carry, so I put my longbow in my bag, slip my axe into its loop, and sneak inside, an arrow nocked on my new hunting bow, but not drawn.

The room was massive, the ceiling disappearing into murk. The floor was scattered with fallen rubble and dead skeevers. The creatures had obviously put up quite a fight, though, as there was also the body of one of the bandits lying near a supporting column. Across the other side of the room were two great wooden doors, in front of which a pair of thieves had set up camp. As I sneak closer, cutting the tails off the skeevers to use in potions as I go, I can hear the two arguing about something, but I can't make out what they are saying. Damn thieves – your days of preying on the weak are over.

I draw the bow – this is definitely a better one than the longbow – and loose, the arrow missing by inches and bouncing off of a large stone jug. This startles the pair, who ready their weapons and come searching. My next shot takes the swordsman through the forehead, instantly ending his life, but marking my position to his fellow, who drew an arrow to her cheek and took aim.

My first shot at her lands on the arm holding the bow, a powerful shot that sends the arrow halfway down her arm. I wince in sympathy even as the next projectile pierces her shoulder, draining the last of her blood. There's no way I'll be able to get that arrow back, but she has plenty on her back, so I take them and her comrade's steel sword, which is lighter than the axe and, I find, easier to use. Picking open the chest in the camp, I find a couple of potions and some gold, then I open the doors and follow the corridor down, pushing through a couple of thin webs. Yuck – why does dungeon-delving have to be so gross?

Along the passage are more skeever bodies and a couple of burial urns, which I loot. I reach what used to be a room, but roots have grown through the ceiling and have turned the space into a twist in the corridor. At the bottom of some steps, I spy another bandit, so I crouch down and watch as he approaches a lever in the floor in the middle of the room.

As he pulls the lever, small bolts fire out of tiny holes in the floor of the narrow balcony above the iron grate he was obviously attempting to open, and the man cries out, falls, twitches a couple of times, then stops. The darts must have been poisoned. I straighten up and enter the room myself, revealing more of the room.

Above the balcony, two stone heads and an empty alcove between them stare at me, the heads with pictures in their mouths, of a snake and a whale respectively. Beneath a larger area, to which the balcony reaches, lies the remains of another stone head, also with a snake in its gaping jaw. Along the wall to my left are three alcoves, each containing a three sided pillar decorated with the same images as the heads, as well as a bird.

I loot the ex-bandit, and climb the stairs to the balcony to take the potion sat on some shelves on the raised area across the balcony. Jumping down, I look at the pillars, then at the heads. Then I see where the bandit went wrong.

I turn the first pillar to show a snake, the second to the same, and the third to show a whale, so the images shown by the small monoliths correspond with what the stone heads would've shown had they all been intact. I then cross the room, take a deep breath and, screwing my eyes tight shut, pull the lever.

The gate opens.

I can't remember the last time I was this relieved. No, really, I can't. I hate that what happened to put me in that cart has wiped my memory. I feel that there is so much I need to remember, stuff that might be important at some point, but I just can't, and this depresses me.

I stop moping, ready my bow and cross the threshold into the room on the other side. I skim through the book that is lying on the table, loot the chest and urns, then turn toward the staircase spiralling down. A bow is useless in confined spaces, so I sling it onto my back and ready a flame spell in my hand. A good idea, it turns out, as three skeevers hear my descent and attack. The magical fire makes quick work of them, and their charred remains slide down the wooden steps. Cropping their tails, I also take the poison and the scroll that lie on the table in the room at the bottom. I switch back to my bow and head down the passage before me.

"Is – is someone coming?" I hear a voice call from deeper in the ruin. "Is that you, Harknir? Bjorn? Soling? I know I ran ahead with the claw, but I need help!"

I am about to try to find the source of the voice, but I notice a clot of web covering something large and cuboid, so I burn the web away to reveal a chest that contains a potion and some gold. I turn to my left to find both entrances to a large, web-covered room blocked, the left by roots and the right by thick web. I burn through the web and step through – alerting an enormous spider that comes dropping from the ceiling. I manage to shoot it with a couple of arrows before it closes the distance between us, and I finish it off with fire before it can do too much damage to me. I loot the urns and the egg-sacs in the room before heading over to a Dunmer who is entangled in thick, sticky web.

"You did it – you killed it!" He cries. "Now cut me down before anything else shows up."

I take advantage of the situation. "Where's the Golden Claw?"

"Yes, the claw – I know how it works! The claw, the markings, the door in the Hall of Stories; I know how they all fit together!" He says. "Help me down and I'll show you – you won't believe the power the Nords have hidden there."

"Fine." I consent. "Let me see if I can cut you down." I draw my sword and start hacking through the strongly-spun strands.

"Sweet breath of Arkay, thank-you!" The stricken bandit cries. "It's coming loose, I can feel it!" He is soon free, but as he regains his balance, he smiles at me wickedly.

"You fool. Why should I share the treasure with anyone?" He spins and bolts down the corridor the tangle had revealed.

Now this is what helping a thief gets you. I promise to myself that every location I must visit that isn't a town, inn or city, I clear of inhabitants, whether humanoid or not. I follow the web covered figure as he disappears around a corner.

As I descend a set of stairs, a decrepit figure rises from its repose in an alcove. Great, now the dead are walking?! I draw an arrow to my cheek and fire it into the face of the dried-up ex-human. It jerks, and continues its shamble towards me. My next shot, however, soon fells the unfortunate thing. The noise of the fight has awoken another though, that is quickly dealt with. I sneak into the room and inspect the bodies. These are no ordinary undead – these are the fabled Draugr, the cursed corpses of former dragon worshippers. The bodies still hold some gold, so I take that, and the arrows that are still in good condition that are slung across one's back. As I straighten, I see the body of the claw-thief, where the swinging axes in the passage beyond had thrown him. I rummage through his bag, to find the Golden Claw, some gold, and a journal, which I pick up in interest and open.

Arvel's Journal. Reads the front page. I turn it over and continue reading. My fingers are trembling. The Golden Claw is finally in my hands, and with it, the power of the ancient Nordic heroes. That fool Lucan Valerius had no idea that his favourite decoration was actually the key to Bleak Falls Barrow. Now I just need to get to the Hall of Stories and unlock the door. The legend says there is a test that the Nords put in place to keep the unworthy away, but that 'when you have the Golden Claw, the solution is in the palm of your hands.'

Arvel, you were the fool, thinking you could just run through a place like this unharmed. Still, that last part sounded important – I'd better remember that. Now, though, to deal with these damn axes that are in my way.

Watching the blades swing, I soon find the rhythm, and dodge past the first one, then the second, but the third catches me on the shoulder just as I skip through. Ouch. I heal myself and the pain fades. I look ahead to find myself in a passage lined with small alcoves, each just large enough for the corpse they contain. In larger alcoves stand Draugr, seemingly sleeping. I manage to shoot a couple of them before they 'wake', and I lure two more to wade through a large puddle of oil, then shoot an arrow at the lantern hanging above, knocking it to the ground, where it smashes and ignites the oil. The Draugr died in almost silence.

The passage opens up to a room bifurcated by a stream that rushes through a gate in the right side wall. Across the stream, a vertical coffin crashes open, and out steps a Draugr, which growls as it sees my form in the entryway. It begins a speedy limp towards me, but two projectiles later it lies in the stream, the eerie blue light in its eyes dimming.

I loot the chest across the stream then pull the chain on the wall to open the gate. I paddle through into a cavern, the walls sprinkled with strange, glowing fungi. I harvest the weird mushrooms, then mine the iron ore vein that sits in the middle of the floor. On the other side of the cavern, the brook tumbles over a ledge into a pit below, spanned by a natural rock bridge, along which wanders a Draugr. After looting a nearby chest, I follow the passage to my right, clipping the fungi from the walls as I go. The rocky corridor joins up to the arch, and I take the opportunity to take out the undead warrior before it sees me. It tumbles off the span of stone down the pit into which the water falls. There is a ledge that runs down the sides, so I follow that to the bottom to find a chest and a drowned skeever, both of which I loot together with the Draugr.

I climb back up the slope of the ledge and continue along the passage to a room that is half ruined, patrolled by yet another Draugr. When the corpse returns to its true state, I loot a chest half-buried in the rubble, then pass through a door.

I'm starting to feel the hunger that I know has been there the whole time I've been inside this wretched tomb, and I wish I had at least brought food with me. Gritting my teeth, promising to buy something the moment I'm out, I continue my adventure.

After following the passage and emptying out the containers I encounter, I reach another trap – more pendulum axes. I only manage to dodge one, this time, but a healing potion soon fixes the deep gash across my back. I'm lucky it didn't sever my spine – if I had, I'd have been damned to rot in this dark hole until the next adventurer came along. But then, that probably wouldn't have been that long, seeing as Balgruuf and Farengar seem pretty eager to get their hands on this Dragonstone.

I blot out all thoughts of death and return to the task ahead. The room I'm now in is flooded with oil, with a couple of fragile lanterns hanging from the bridge above. As I step forward, the lid of a tomb to my left bursts into the air, allowing the undead inside to rise. It doesn't get far though, as a well-aimed arrow smacks into the space between its clavicles and throws it back in the casket. And stay put!

Its dying growl, however, alerts two of its wandering fellows, who descend a wooden ramp across the room to see what the racket was about. Just as they step in the oil, I shoot an arrow at one of the ceramic jugs and the oil bursts to light, burning them both into blackened shapes.

I climb the sloped beams, cross the bridge and open a door to find myself in a short, spacious corridor ended with what I assume to be a door, three large rings around a central circular plaque with three indents across the top. This must be the Hall of Stories then. Crossing the floor, I study the walls, which are intricately carved with human figures, but they are so worn I cannot make out any details or what the tale is meant to be.

Reaching the door, I pull out the claw, remembering the riddle from Arvel's diary. '...the solution is in the palm of your hands'... The claw! That must hold the answer!

I inspect the golden object, and sure enough, carved into the palm of the claw are three symbols, a bear, a dragonfly and an owl. I turn the rings in the door until they match the design, then press the claw to the central stone, twisting and hoping.

The door clunks thrice, then grinds into the floor, a stone platform sliding across the gap left in the floor of the doorway. On the other side is a huge cave, in the middle of which is a tomb, a chest and a massive wall. As I get closer, a small colony of bats flitters away in fright over my head. I notice a vein of ore, which I mine, then I skirt around the edge of the room first in case of other loot. I eventually find two other chests, one each side of the room, and I empty them both before approaching the platform in the middle. I clean out the chest in the middle of the room, then I stop.

The wall is calling me.

I step closer. The voices increase in volume, the chanting running through and around my head.

Closer, closer.

Everything is dark, the only light from the etched word that reaches out to me, calling my soul.

I extend my arm, stretching my fingers toward the blue scratches in the pitch black wall. Finally, I touch stone.

Warmth spreads throughout my body, and suddenly I know exactly what the word says.

Fus.

Suddenly, the room lightens, the word fades, and the warm feeling dissipates. What just happened? It was like I was hypnotised or something. Before I have stood long in contemplation, however, the tomb behind me opens with a crash, and out climbs a Draugr that is taller than the ones I fought before. It seems stronger, too.

I raise my sword just in time to stop a black blade from slamming into my black-haired skull. I can feel cold radiating from the sword – obviously, the blade is enchanted. Thrusting it away, I return the sentiment, managing to cut open its withered arm. Dodging its next attack, I manage another couple of attacks before blocking another strike, but not before the tip of its frozen sword cuts my shoulder. It feels like someone has scratched me with an icicle.

Another couple of swings and the creature is un-undead. I take the sword to use on the enchanting table at Dragonsreach. I rummage through the rotting sack tied to its belt and find inside the carved tablet that I was sent for. Finally this is over!

I climb up the nearby stairs into a narrow passage, blocked halfway by what looks like a solid wall of stone. There's a handle nearby, so I turn it and the solid wall rises into the roof, and I pass through, jump down off a ledge and loot one final chest before scrambling through the opening back into the outside world.

I can't believe how long I was in there! The sun is all the way across the other side of the sky – there can only be another couple of hours left before nightfall. There doesn't seem to be a safe way down, so I jump down from rocky ledge to ledge, picking up a potion as I go. Wonder how the mixture got there? No matter, I'll soon be back in Riverwood. I head downriver, mining the corundum ore I come across. I'm on the wrong side of the river, though, so I begin to swim across.

Something bites my ankle. I stop and twist around, to see the jagged shape of a slaughterfish speeding towards me, aiming for another go. Blasted things. I continue across the river until the water is shallow enough for me to be able to stand and draw my sword. One slash, and the carnivorous fish floats to the surface. I descale it, then head up the slope towards the road, which I follow back to town.

My, is Riverwood a welcome sight! I head straight to the Trader.

"The sooner you find the claw, the sooner our lives can get back to normal." Lucan greets me. I reach into my bag and grab the Golden Claw.

"I have the Golden Claw." I retort, placing it on the counter.

"You found it? Ha ha ha!" The shopkeeper laughs, relieved. "There it is!" He picked it up, inspecting it for damage. "Strange, it seems smaller than I remember. Funny thing, huh? I'm going to put this back where it belongs. I'll never forget this! You've done a great thing for me and my sister." He placed it back on the counter, adjusted its position, then handed me a purse bulging with coin. "Thank-you so much for taking care of those thieves. The Riverwood Trader is back to the way it used to be!"

"I'd like to sell some stuff." I start emptying my little satchel of all the loot that I don't want to keep. Lucan again assesses each item as it lands on the table-top, then hands me another bag of gold. I use some of the gold to buy some more arrows and potions, and a necklace of waterbreathing. This will come in useful. I put the jewellery on, then nod to Camilla and leave the store.

I glance at the setting sun – I can make it to Whiterun, I'm sure. I start down the road, passing another prisoner convoy. The Imperials sure are busy!

I misjudged the distance – it's already getting dark, and I haven't even reached the crossroads yet. I take a shortcut behind the Meadery, and sprint toward the gates that stand between me and the light of the city. I make it just as the moons rise. I jog to the market and enter the Bannered Mare.

"What can I get you?" asks the innkeeper.

"I'd like to rent a room." I hand over the ten gold fee.

"Of course. You know the way. My name is Hulda, by the way."

This time, I pause long enough to remove my armour.


	3. Dragonborn?

What the hell is wrong with me that is making me dream such horrors? This time, I was devouring people as well. I should've eaten yesterday. I'm so hungry I could eat a mammoth. I descend into the common room and buy a couple of apples for breakfast and some food for later. I eat as I go to Dragonsreach, finishing off the last of the sweet green fruits as I reach the doors. Chucking the cores into a bush, I head inside.

It's so early the Jarl isn't even up yet, but I hear voices coming from Farengar's study, so at least I won't have to wait until he awakens.

"You see?" He is saying to a cowled figure leaning on the table. "The terminology is clearly First Era or even earlier. I'm convinced this is a copy of a much older text, perhaps dating to just after the Dragon War. If so, I can use this to cross-reference the names with other, later texts."

"Good – I'm glad you're making progress. My employers are anxious to have some tangible answers." The leather-clad woman responds. Neither of them have noticed me in the doorway yet, and I'm reluctant to interrupt.

"Oh, have no fear – the Jarl himself has finally taken an interest, I'm now able to devote most of my time to this research."

"Time is running, Farengar, don't forget." The cowl reminds. "This isn't some theoretical question – dragons have come back."

"Yes, yes, don't worry. Although the chance to see a living dragon up close would be tremendously valuable." If you can focus through the mind-numbing terror, that is. "Now, let me show you something else I found – very interesting..." Farengar began looking around, his eyes skimming over me, but obviously not seeing me. "I think your employers may be interested as well..." The cowled woman, however, does see me.

"You have a visitor."

"Hm?" Farengar finally realises that the humanoid figure in the doorway is that of a humanoid figure in the doorway. "Ah, yes, the Jarl's protégé!" He rounded the table, and I entered the room to meet him halfway. "Back from Bleak Falls Barrow? You didn't die, it seems." The Nords' powers of observation astound me. I bite back the sarcastic comment hanging from my tongue and allow him to continue, offering him the Dragonstone.

"Ah, the Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow! Seems you are a cut above the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way." Why, what did he get before – a wicker chicken?

"I got you the Dragonstone – what next?" I ask.

"That is where your job ends and mine begins – the work of the mind, sadly undervalued in Skyrim." I hope he really doesn't realise he just called me stupid. "My...associate here will be pleased with your handiwork. She discovered its location by means she has so far declined to share with me." He turned to his hooded companion, whose appreciative gaze I could feel boring into my ashen skin. "So your information was correct after all. And we have our friend here to thank for recovering it for us." Farengar says, as though she hadn't just heard our entire exchange.

"You went to Bleak Falls Barrow and got that?" Do I really look that incapable? "Nice work. Just send me a copy when you've deciphered it." With that, she left, brushing past Irileth, who was hurrying towards us. What has got the Housecarl in such a fluster?

"Farengar!" She calls. "Farengar, you need to come at once – a dragon's been sighted nearby. You should come too." She adds in my direction, before turning and heading towards the stairs at the back of the hall, giving Farengar time to catch up.

"A dragon? How exciting!" No, Farengar, it isn't exciting. It's far, far from exciting. "Where was it seen? What was it doing?" Like it's just a rare breed of finch. One that happens to be several meters long and can breathe fire...

Irileth, it seems, feels the same as I. "I'd take this a bit more seriously if I were you. If a dragon decides to attack Whiterun, I don't know if we can stop it." At the bottom of the steps, a guardsman waits. At Irileth's "Let's go." He follows us up.

The Jarl is waiting in the area at the top, in front of a massive pair of doors and next to a table covered with a map, on which are stuck many little flags; some red, some blue. I think I can guess what those depict – Imperial red and Stormcloak blue.

"So, Irileth tells me you come from the Western Watchtower?" Balgruuf asks the guard, who stops and stands to attention before him.

"Yes, my lord."

"Tell him what you told me – about the dragon." Irileth orders him. He takes a deep breath, then begins his explanation.

"Ah, that's right. We saw it coming from the south. It was fast, faster than anything I've ever seen." He pauses.

"What did it do?" Balgruuf presses. "Is it attacking the Watchtower?"

"No, my lord." The wretched man retorts. "It was just circling overhead when I left. I never ran so fast in my life – I thought it would come after me for sure."

"Good work, son." Praises the Jarl. "We'll take it from here. Head down to the barracks for some food and rest – you've earned it. Irileth, you'd better gather some guardsmen and get down there."

"I've already ordered my men to muster near the main gate." The main gate? I didn't think there were any other gates. I haven't seen any.

"Good. Don't fail me." Balgruuf turns to me. "There's no time to stand on ceremony, friend. I need your help again. I want you to go with Irileth and help her fight this dragon." OH GODS! Who does he think I am? I can't do this! I'm not ready! "You survived Helgen, so you have more experience with dragons than anyone else here." I have experience running away from dragons, if that's what he means! "But I haven't forgotten the service you did for me in retrieving the Dragonstone for Farengar. As a token of my esteem, I have instructed Avenicci that you are now permitted to purchase property in the city." He must be talking about Proventus. "And please, accept this gift from my personal armoury." He hands me a steel axe, which I pocket with shaking hands. I'm not sure about this. What aid could I possibly lend against a dragon? Oh well – I don't seem to have much of a choice in this matter.

"I should come along. I would very much like to see this dragon." No you don't, Farengar. You don't want to be anywhere near one of those monsters.

"No – I can't afford to risk both of you." Balgruuf rebuts his argument. "I need you here working on ways to defend the city against these dragons."

"As you command." Farengar mopes, then returns to his study.

"One last thing, Irileth." The Jarl calls as Irileth starts down the stairs. "This isn't a death-or-glory mission. I need to know what we're dealing with."

"Don't worry, my lord, I am the very soul of caution." With that, she and I head to the barracks at the gate, joining the small gathering of guards. Four? So it's just the six of us and whatever survivors are left against a dragon. Great.

"Here's the situation." explains the Housecarl. "A dragon is attacking the Western Watchtower." This throws the guardsmen. I'm not entirely sure they won't desert as soon as their Dunmer leader isn't looking. "You heard right – I said a dragon! I don't much care where it came from or who sent it. What I do know is that it's made the mistake of attacking Whiterun!" Who sent it? What possible other motive could the beast have other than wanton destruction?

"But Housecarl – how can we fight a dragon?" Asks one of the guards.

"That's a fair question. None of us have ever seen a dragon before, or expected to face one in battle. But we are honour-bound to fight it, even if we fail. This dragon is threatening our homes – our families! Could you call yourselves Nords if you ran from this monster? Are you going to let me face this thing alone?" This seems to rally the troops.

"No, Housecarl!" Most of them cry. Not loud enough to drown out one last cynic.

"We're so dead..." He says. Irileth ignores him.

"But it's more than our honour at stake here. Think of it...the first dragon seen in Skyrim since the last Age! The glory of killing it is ours, if you're with me! Now, what do you say? Shall we go kill us a dragon?"

"Yeah!" the men cry, drunk with the idea of being the famous ones to kill the first of the resurgent dragons.

"Let's move out!" Orders the Housecarl, and we all set off at a jog, through the gates, down the winding path and along the road towards the smoking Watchtower.

We stop behind a rocky outcrop, close enough to see the damage wrought by the angry beast.

"No sign of any dragon right now, but it sure looks like he's been here." She turns to the gathering behind us. "I know it looks bad, but we've got to figure out what happened, and if that dragon is still skulking around somewhere. Spread out and look for survivors – we need to know what we're dealing with." The soldiers scatter, weapons drawn. I follow Irileth, bow in hand, reluctant to be caught alone if and when the dragon returns. As we near the tower, a ragged guard emerges, panic written in big bold letters across his face.

"No, get back! It's still here somewhere – Hroki and Tor just got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it!"

"Guardsman, what happened here?" Irileth calls back. "Where's this dragon – quickly now!"

"I don't know -" the poor Nord responds, just as a roar screams across the sky. "Kynareth save us, here he comes again!" As he ducks back inside, a dark winged shadow glides overhead.

"Here he comes! Find cover and make every arrow count!" Irileth orders as she draws her bow.

"Ha ha ha! Beware mortal fools, as Mirmulnir has returned!" A great booming voice laughs – dragons can speak?! Fighting the terror rising in my gut, I take a deep breath and aim my bow where I guess the dragon will be when my arrow reaches him. As I loose, however, he twists and changes direction. I watch as my arrow soars off into the distance, hopefully not hitting some poor innocent farmer. I nock another as the dragon – Mirmulnir – lands in the tundra behind the tower. My anger at the destruction and death caused by the monster fades as the bloodlust takes me once more.

I run around to get a clear shot and start shooting, not even flinching when he sends a barrage of flame in my direction, even though it hurts more than anything I can describe. More than the searing heat of Vvardenfell's self-destruction. My attempts are aided by the guards, who are also loosing their arrows as soon as they can, not even pausing to aim. Mirmulnir screams as an arrow pierces the softer flesh beneath his chin, then lets out another bout of flames, felling one of the guards.

I loose an arrow, striking him just behind where his ear would be were he a mammal, and, with a fell cry, he crashes to the ground. Mirmulnir is no more.

I approach in wonder, my need for blood and battle fading. I haven't got very close, however, when the body of the enormous reptilian creature begins to glow. The skin suddenly bursts into flame, searing away flesh and scales, but not touching the bones. As this happens, a bright stream of light reaches towards me, faster than I can move to back away.

Warmth. Ecstasy. And knowledge. I know what fus means now. Force. I know how to use it against my foes, to make them stumble as I shower them with the strikes of my claws, to render them helpless against my great power.

Wait, what? I come back to my senses as the light fades. I don't have claws. But still, I know more than I did before. What just happened? I turn to see the guards hurriedly approaching.

"I can't believe it! You're...Dragonborn!" One remarks when he nears me.

"Dragonborn? What do you mean?" I ask him, now even more confused. This has happened to others?

"In the very oldest tales, back from when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power. That's what you did, isn't it? Absorbed that dragon's power?"

"I don't know what happened to me."

"There's one way to find out." Explains the guard. "Try to Shout – that would prove it. According to the old legends, only the Dragonborn can Shout without training, the way the dragon's do." Thanks to what happened just now, I know what he means by 'Shout', though it still confuses me.

"Dragonborn? What are you talking about?" One of the other guards asks as the group comes back to join us, Irileth with them.

"That's right!" pipes up another. "My grandfather used to tell stories about the Dragonborn. Those born with the Dragon Blood in them, like old Tiber Septim himself."

"I never heard of Tiber Septim killing any dragons." Scoffs the first.

"There weren't any dragons then, idiot." Retorts the guard I had been conversing with. "They're just coming back now for the first time in...forever."

"What do you say, Irileth?" The second guard questions. "You've been awfully quiet."

"Come on, Irileth, tell us." This one must be the youngest of the three. "Do you believe in this Dragonborn business?"

"Hmph." Irileth responds. "Some of you would be better off keeping quiet than flapping your gums on matters you know nothing about. Here's a dead dragon, and that's something I definitely understand. Now we know we can kill them. But I don't need some mythical Dragonborn. Someone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me." Was that a compliment buried in that little speech? I believe so!

"You wouldn't understand Housecarl. You aint a Nord." The first guard says grumpily.

"I've been all across Tamriel! I've seen things just as outlandish as this." Retorts the Housecarl. "I'd advise you all to trust in the strength of your sword arm over tales and legends." I'm about ready to test this theory.

"If you really are Dragonborn, like out of the old tales, you ought to be able to Shout. Can you? Have you tried?" one of the guards asks. Give me a chance!

Just in case it does work, I turn my back on the armoured figures and take a deep breath.

"FUS!" I scream, and a wall of air goes flying away from me. I feel a little drained, but nothing I can't handle. That was amazing! Maybe there is something to their theory that I am Dragonborn. I'm not sure I'm ready for the title, though.

"By all that I hold sacred....that's a Shout! Like the Greybeards on their mountain!" cries one of the guards. I'm starting to get really annoyed with these people's habit of stating the obvious. It's like they're adding exposition to some story.

I head back towards the city. Just as I turn the corner where the twisted pathway to the gate meets the road, a great rumble knocks me off balance.

"DOVAHKIIN!" a reverberating yell crashes around me. It's so loud I can't figure out where it came from. I stumble around, and eventually find my feet, retrieving my bow which had fallen from my back.

As I re-enter the city, I pause to observe an argument taking place between one of the guards and two warriors wearing red clothes, turbans and glittering scimitars.

"Look, you've already been told you're not allowed here. Turn around and go back the way you came." The guard was saying.

"We're causing no trouble." The accent of Hammerfell rolls easily off the warrior's tongue. "All we ask is to look for her."

"I don't care what you're doing – after what happened you're lucky I don't toss you in gaol. Now get lost." The guard turns and leaves.

"We will be back." Promises the warrior. "This is not over." He spots me lurking nearby, and comes over. "You there. We're looking for someone in Whiterun, and will pay good money for information."

"Who are you looking for?" I ask, wondering what it was that got them banned from the city.

"A woman, a foreigner in these lands. Redguard, like us. She is likely not using her true name. We will pay for any information regarding here location. We are not welcome here in Whiterun, so we will be in Rorikstead if you learn anything. She cannot hide forever." With that, he and his companion exit the town, the guards glaring after them.

I decide to take the other route up to Dragonsreach. On the way, I spy two children arguing.

"Battle-Born! Give me your money!" the girl demands.

"I – I don't have any money." Stutters the poor lad. Neither of them can be over ten years old.

"You'd better give me five septims right now, or I'll bloody your nose. Ten septims tomorrow, baby Battle-Born, or I'm going to bloody your nose and your lip." I have to do something about this.

"No, please – I really don't have any money, Braith! I'll give you ten septims tomorrow, just don't hit me!" The boy sobs. The girl dashes off, and I squat next to the poor kid. "It's no fun getting pushed around all the time." He says.

I decide to try to take his mind off things while I think of something. "What's your name, lad?"

"Lars, Lars Battle-Born." He whimpers.

"What does a kid do for fun around here?"

"Well, I used to sneak out at night and try to tip over the big ox in the Grey-Mane's yard." The boy has cheered up already, it seems. "And me and Mila used to climb up on the roof of Dragonsreach and look for bird's eggs. But I don't do that stuff anymore – Father keeps catching me, and then I get in trouble." At this, he looks around, worriedly, then darts away. Well, that's one way to end a conversation. I climb the steps to Dragonsreach and slip through the wooden doors.

"Good – you're finally here." The steward greets me. "The Jarl's been waiting for you."

As I approach the throne, I catch the end of the conversation the Jarl was having with a burly Nord.

"You heard the summons." Balgruuf was saying. "What else could it mean? The Greybeards..."

"We were just talking about you." His companion says to me. "My brother needs a word with you." Funny, they don't look alike. But then, quite a few families look nothing alike – I look nothing like my late sister, so who am I to judge?

"So, what happened at the Watchtower?" The Jarl worries at me. "Was the dragon there?"

"The Watchtower was destroyed, but we killed the dragon." I explain, then pause. Should I tell him?

"I knew I could count on Irileth! But there must be more to it than that."

"When the dragon died, I absorbed some kind of power from it." There. That's that off my chest. I still don't understand, however.

"So it is true. The Greybeards really were summoning you." Balgruuf seems to be in awe of me. Me! But who are these mysterious people everyone is referring to?

"The Greybeards?"

"Masters of the Way of the Voice." Well, that explains a lot. "They live in seclusion high on the slopes of the Throat of the World." That must be the castle I could see vaguely, near the top of that enormous mountain across the river.

"What do the Greybeards want with me?" I wonder.

"The Dragonborn is said to be uniquely gifted in the Voice – the ability to focus your vital essence into a Thu'um, or Shout. If you really are Dragonborn, they can teach you how to use your gift."

"Didn't you hear the thundering sound as you returned to Whiterun?" Pipes up the warrior hovering next to me. "That was the Voice of the Greybeards, summoning you to High Hrothgar! This hasn't happened in – centuries, at least. Not since Tiber Septim himself was summoned, when he was still Talos of Atmora!"

"Hrongar, calm yourself!" cries Proventus. "What does any of this Nord nonsense have to do with our friend here? Capable as she may be, I don't see any signs of her being this, what – Dragonborn!" Why, am I supposed to have it tattooed across my forehead or something?

"Nord nonsense?" Hrongar is outraged. "Why you puffed up, ignorant...these are our sacred traditions that go back to the founding of the First Empire!"

"Hrongar, don't be so hard on Avenicci." Warns Balgruuf.

"I meant no disrespect, of course. It's just that, what do these Greybeards want with her?" Proventus apologises in the only way a Cyrodiil knows how.

"That's the Greybeards' business, not ours." Muses the Jarl. "Whatever happened when you killed that dragon, it revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it. If they think you're Dragonborn, who are we to argue? You'd better get up to High Hrothgar immediately. There's no refusing the summons of the Greybeards. It's a tremendous honour. I envy you, you know? To climb the 7,000 Steps again..." Seven thousand? Who the hell had the time to count them all? "I made the pilgrimage once, did you know that? High Hrothgar is a very peaceful place, very...disconnected from the troubles of this world. I wonder that the Greybeards even notice what's going on down here; they haven't seemed to care before. No matter – go to High Hrothgar. Learn what the Greybeards can teach you. You've done a great service for me and my city, Dragonborn." Whoa. Unexpected tangent, anyone?

"By my right as Jarl," continues Balgruuf. "I name you Thane of Whiterun. It's the greatest honour that's within my power to grant. I assign you Lydia, as a personal Housecarl, and this weapon from my armoury." Sweet, an enchanted axe - I'm keeping this one. "I'll also notify the guards of your new title – wouldn't want them to think you're part of the common rabble, now would we? We are honoured to have you as Thane of our city, Dragonborn." With that, he turns to his steward. "Back to business, Proventus. We still have a city to defend."

"Yes, my lord." Proventus responds as I turn from the dais and head to the front door. As I reach the bottom of the steps, I see an armour-clad woman waiting there. She hadn't been there before – she must be my Housecarl, Lydia.

"The Jarl has appointed me to be your Housecarl. It's an honour to serve you." She says when I greet her.

"I'm a Thane? What does that mean?" I take the opportunity to learn more about my new position.

"The Jarl has recognised you as a person of great importance in the Hold – a hero. The title of Thane is an honour, a gift for your service. Guards will know to look the other way, if you tell them who you are." Hmm... the temptation for misuse is almost too much.

"What does a Housecarl do?"

"As my Thane, I am sworn to your service. I'll guard you, and all you own, with my life." Lydia says.

I could use a companion, someone to help me with all these dungeon crawls people seem to expect of me. "Follow me, I need your help."

"Lead the way." Lydia says, and falls in behind me as I travel through the city, out the gate and down the road towards where the road crosses the river.

Just across the bridge, I spot a wolf patrolling near the road, so I draw my sword and prepare for an attack. Sure enough, no sooner have my feet touched solid ground again than the wolf jumps on me. One slice from my blade, and an arrow from Lydia, soon fells the hairy mutt. We've barely got ten yards down the road when another pack of wolves attack, these sporting scars that can only have come from being confined in a cage for a long period of time. They had been standing over the corpse of a bandit, which I loot along with the pelts of the creatures after they have been dealt with. On the body is a note, which I unfold and skim over.

Adril, it reads. I need you to go out and find the missing pit wolves before the next tournament. We lost too many during the last fights, and we won't be able to train new ones in time. Find them and bring them back to Cragslane at once! I do not condone treating animals this way, so I draw out the map that had come with the bag, and after a short consultation with Lydia, I mark the general area where she says Cragslane Cavern is. I mark the other places I have been on it too, and continue down the road. Beneath a hill next to where the road turned was yet another wolf, which made the mistake of attempting to have us for dinner. I'd barely drawn my sword when Lydia's arrow took it in the shoulder, killing it.

Atop the hill I could see the top of some stones, and, curious, I found the path up the hill to find a standing stone – and a necromancer. Despite what my heritage implies, the Dunmer hate necromancers, and I am no exception. I slay the desecrator before she has a chance to raise any of the skeletons that are scattered around the base of the stone. I loot the corpse, then inspect the stone. Carved into the rocky face is a stylised eye. Now I remember what the images remind me of – each correlates with a constellation. This must be the Ritual Stone. I mark it as so on my map, then return to the road and continue on my journey. At the bottom of a dip in the road, two ancient towers stand, one either side of the rushing river, a bridge joining them. It seems to be inhabited by bandits, but as they are distracted hunting a passing elk, Lydia and I manage to slip past un-noticed.

The rest of our trip is reasonably uneventful, apart from another small pack of wolves attacking us as we reached the far bank of a river. The main road took a long detour away from our mountain destination, so I took a gamble and led us along a goat path, which took us in the right direction. As the track took as along the bank of a river, the rocks making rapids that spat drips of water all over the place, we encountered a troll.

It was a tougher fight than I had encountered before, but the troll soon lay dead at our feet, its body leaking fat out of its wounds. I collect some of the oozings in a pot, then mine the nearby ore veins, one of which was quite valuable orichalcum. The troll's lair was full of the bones of recent feasts, and the corpses of two Stormcloaks, one of whom had a short note in their bag. Curious, I retrieve the small slip of paper and read the late soldiers' orders.

Captain, there have been multiple complaints about attacks near the river northwest of the Rift. We could use some more civilian support from that area for the war effort, so send a few men to investigate. It's probably just a couple of wolves, so you'll only need to send at most two men. Happy hunting. Bad luck for them then that it wasn't 'just a couple of wolves.'

Before we carry on up the hill, I hear a chiming tune, and find the source to be a small, glowing, leafy plant. I've heard of these, but never actually seen one – nirnroot! I carefully pull it from the rocky soil, making sure I have the whole plant. Broken nirnroot aren't as valuable as the whole thing. Tucking it into a separate part of my satchel that I store alchemy ingredients in, I start up the hill.

Reaching the top, I find myself on the outskirts of a small town, a bridge crossing the raging river toward a many-stepped slope up the mountain. That must be the base of the 7,000 Steps. A Nord is chatting with a Wood Elf on the near side of the bridge, so I pause, wondering what to do next. I'm not sure there's enough daylight left in the day to make the trip up to High Hrothgar, but I need to know round-about how far I'll have to go, in case I do have time.

"On your way up the 7,000 Steps again, Klimmek?" the Bosmer asks.

"Not today." Responds the one addressed as Klimmek gruffly. "I'm just not ready to make the climb to High Hrothgar. The path isn't safe." Uh-oh.

"Aren't the Greybeards expecting some supplies?"

"Honestly, I'm not certain. I've yet to be allowed into the monastery. Perhaps one day." The pair end their chat, and head toward the inn in the middle of the town. I halt the passing Nord.

"Passing through on your way to High Hrothgar? About to make a delivery there myself." I decide that, seeing as I'm headed that way anyway, I can help the man out, and save him some trouble.

"What type of deliveries do you make to High Hrothgar?" I ask, hoping I don't have to haul a massive great sack up there with only Lydia to assist.

Klimmek shrugs. "Mostly food supplies like dried fish and salted meats; you know, things that keep fresh for a long time. The Greybeards tend not to get out much, if you catch my meaning."

"And in return?" Not many people are willing to do such a task for free.

"Well, it's kind of an understanding between us." Obviously, Klimmek is one of the few who are. "I mean, it wouldn't feel right to charge them for a bit of preserved food. Trouble is, my legs aren't what they used to be, and climbing the 7,000 Steps takes its toll."

Yes, I should definitely help, if this man can't make the trip so often any more. "I could do it for you." I offer.

"Really? That would be kind of you." Why so incredulous? Doesn't he believe in other people's kindness? He offers a backpack stuffed brimming with foodstuff. "Here, take this bag of supplies. At the top of the Steps you'll see the offering chest. Just leave the bag inside and you're done. Be careful up there!" He advises, before striding off and entering the inn.

Tucking the bag into my satchel – these tiny little sacks are truly wondrous things – I gaze at the western sky. It's starting to turn pink, so I decide to take an early night so I can get a good start tomorrow. I eat the meat and the bread as I amble towards the Vilemyr Inn, and finish off the ale just before I head inside.

The atmosphere is warm, the common room not crowded, and the people look friendly. I walk up to the counter and grab the attention of the innkeeper.

"I'm Wilhelm. Let me know if you need anything." He says as he sidles over.

"I'd like to rent a room." I open my purse.

"Sure thing – that's ten gold, just like everywhere else." I hand over the fee, glad I don't have to worry about differing prices across the country. I suddenly remember some of my youth, the rolling hills of Cyrodiil popping into my mind – and that each inn in each city charged a different price. I return to the present just in time to catch Wilhelm's last comment. "It's yours for a day. I'll show you to your room – right this way." I follow him into a large room with two beds in it, my two late nights and early mornings catching me up as I flop onto the bed. I remove my armour, and lie down on the bed.

I'm thinking hard, trying to remember more of who I am, when I doze off and am soon fast asleep.


	4. Training at High Hrothgar

It's still dark when we leave the inn the next morning. At least these nightmares of mine act like an alarm, otherwise I probably wouldn't get out of bed until well past sunrise. The sky lightens as Lydia and I cross the bridge and start up the steps though. A short distance up the path is a stone sculpture, bearing an etched tablet. I step closer to read what is scratched into the stone.

Emblem I. Before the birth of Men, the Dragons ruled all Mundus. Their word was the Voice and they spoke only for True Needs. For the Voice could blot out the sky and flood the land.

Hmm. I wonder what it means, and if there are any others, as suggested by the 'I'? We follow the steps up, and a wolf springs out of a bush growing next to the path. We soon deal with the threat the creature tries to pose, and I skin the animal, then continue up the path.

After a couple of twists and turns, we reach another stone plaque like the one before. The sun has risen by now, seemingly balanced on the peaks of the eastern mountains. I step forward and read the tablet.

Emblem II. Men were born and spread over the face of Mundus. The Dragons presided over the crawling masses. Men were weak then and had no Voice. Another thought provoking passage - this seems to be a history of the times before history.

The next few meters of the path are relatively quiet, apart from a pair of unlucky wolves. The next emblem has an offering bowl in front of it.

Emblem III. We read. The fledgling spirits of Men were strong in the Old Times. Unafraid to war with Dragons and their Voices. But the Dragons only Shouted them down and broke their hearts.

Following the path a little further, Lydia and I pause to catch our breath. The view from this height is amazing – we have a clear view of the countryside all the way to the mountains that border Skyrim. It is a ruggedly beautiful land, mostly covered in brilliant white snow, grey ruins poking up here and there. Turning from the wondrous view, I head towards the next stone creation, Lydia following behind.

Emblem IV. Kyne called on Paarthurnax, who pitied Man. Together they taught Men to use the Voice. Then Dragon War raged, Dragon against Tongue.

We travel up a long straight set of steps to find a white troll waiting at the top. It hollers, and charges towards us. I manage to get a couple of shots in with my bow before it closes the distance, and Lydia and I bare our blades and start hacking at the thick matted fur. The fell beast is soon slain, and I collect some of its fat before continuing on to the nearby emblem.

Emblem V. Man prevailed, Shouting Alduin out of the World. Proving for all that their Voice too was strong. Although their sacrifices were many-fold. Who was Alduin? I turn, and follow the steps. The trip to the next emblem is quiet. I've decided to read them all, as I am curious as to what happened before recorded time.

Emblem VI. With roaring Tongues, the Sky-Children conquer. Founding the First Empire with Sword and Voice. Whilst the Dragons withdrew from this World.

I think I understand why there is nothing living up here apart from the Greybeards – it is freezing cold! The snow crunching beneath my boots, I reach the next emblem and catch my breath against the icy wind.

Emblem VII. The Tongues at Red Mountain went away humbled. Jurgen Windcaller began his Seven-Year Meditation. To understand how strong Voices could fail.

The emblems are getting closer together as we climb the mountain. I take this as a good sign – we must be getting closer to High Hrothgar.

Emblem VIII. Jurgen Windcaller chose silence and returned. The 17 disputants could not Shout him down. Jurgen the Calm built his home on the Throat of the World. And what a lonely place to do so. The next one sits at the base of a Talos statue.

Emblem IX. For years all silent, the Greybeards spoke one name. Tiber Septim, stripling then, was summoned to Hrothgar. They blessed and named him Dovahkiin. I'm guessing Dovahkiin means Dragonborn, then. Wait – does this mean I'm descended from a god?

Another short set of stairs and the great stone building comes into sight. It is truly a humbling sight, the great grey stone staring out over the tundra of Whiterun. Just before the steps up to the chest which sits at the base of the steps to the doors, is the last emblem stone.

Emblem X. The Voice is worship. Follow the Inner Path. Speak only in True Need. Reading this last, I feel a warm sensation, and am surrounded briefly by a sapphire-blue light. I wonder what that was?

Approaching the snowy chest, I pull out the bag of supplies. The lid of the chest is almost too cold to bear, so I quickly drop the bag inside and let the lid fall closed. There – I should tell Klimmek when I'm done here that the job is finished – I don't want him worrying that I'd bailed and left the Greybeards foodless. I climb the final steps and push the metal door open.

With only the quietest of squeaks, the door reveals a smoky interior, the corners of the room scattered with clay urns and vases. The door shuts as silently behind us, and as my eye gets used to the dimness of the interior, I see a grey-robed man approaching. The Greybeards are well named, it seems – not one hair of his knotted beard carries any trace of colour.

"So, a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age." He says when I come nearer.

"I'm answering your summons." I tell him. Lydia stands quietly to the side.

"We'll see if you truly have the gift. Show us, Dragonborn – let is taste of your Voice." He wants me to Shout at him? Alright...

"FUS!" My – Thu'um, did the Jarl call it? – merely staggers him.

"Dragonborn, it is you. Welcome to High Hrothgar." He says as he regains his footing. "I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards. Now tell me, Dragonborn, why have you come here?" Good grief – is he already senile?

"I want to find out what it means to be Dragonborn." I explain. Arngeir nods.

"We are here to guide you in that pursuit, just as the Greybeards sought to guide those of the Dragon Blood that came before you."

"You mean I'm not the only Dragonborn?" I ask, curious. And slightly hopefully – this is a large burden for one elf to carry, being a figure of legend.

"You are not the first." Responds the Greybeard. "There have been many of the Dragon Blood since Akatosh first bestowed the gift upon mortal-kind. Whether you are the only Dragonborn of this age...that is not ours to know." I'm kind of disappointed with that, but it's also what I was expecting to hear. "You are the only one that has been revealed thus far. That is all I can say."

Ok. Well, if I'm going to be the only one, I'd better know what I'm doing then.

"I'm ready to learn."

Arngeir moves away from the stairs behind him so other robed figures can enter the space around us. They spread out as Arngeir speaks.

"You have shown that you are Dragonborn – you have the inborn gift. But do you have the discipline and temperament to follow the path laid out for you? That remains to be seen. Without training, you have already taken the first steps towards projecting your Voice into a Thu'um, or Shout. Now let us see if you are willing, and able, to learn. When you Shout, you speak in the language of dragons." Understandable, seeing as I have the Dragon Blood, or so they keep telling me.

Arngeir continues. "Thus, your Dragon Blood gives you an inborn ability to learn Words of Power. All Shouts are made up of three Words of Power – as you master each Word, your Shout will become progressively stronger. Master Einarth will now teach you 'Ro', the second Word in Unrelenting Force. 'Ro' means 'balance' in the dragon tongue. Combine it with 'Fus' – force – to focus your Thu'um more sharply." With this, one of the other Greybeards steps forward.

"Ro..." He whispers at the ground, and scratches, which I assume are dragon letters, appear in the stone at his feet. I approach the letters, and again I feel warmth suffuse my body.

"You learn a new Word like a master." Arngeir is impressed, I think. "You truly do have the gift. But learning a Word of Power is only the first step...you must unlock its meaning through constant practice in order to use it in a Shout. Well, that's how the rest of us learn Shouts. As Dragonborn, you can absorb a slain dragon's life force and knowledge directly." So that's what happened at the Western Watchtower. "As part of your initiation, Master Einarth will allow you to tap into his understanding of 'Ro'."

Einarth closes his eyes, concentrating, and a funnel of light and warmth akin to that from Mirmulnir appears and spirals towards me, filling me with knowledge of the Word. How it affects the Shout, making it more powerful. The light fades, the warmth soon after, and a cold breeze blows through the cracks in the stonework, causing me to shiver.

"Now," continues Arngeir. "let us see how quickly you can master your new Thu'um. Use your Unrelenting Force Shout to strike the targets as they appear." I move so that the floor-space is clear, so that the targets, whatever they are, have room to appear.

"Fiik Lo Sah!" Says one of the other Greybeards, and a spectral figure appears in front of me, dressed like one of the Greybeards.

"Fus Ro!" I Shout at it. It stumbles, and fades. I feel a little more drained this time than I did only using the one Word, but I soon recover.

"Well done." Praises the Speaker for the Greybeards. "Again."

"Fiik Lo Sah!" a different Greybeard says, and another spectre materialises.

"Fus Ro!" The target vanishes.

"You learn quickly. Once more." Sigh. The process is repeated again. Lydia seems unfazed by all this, standing silently in the corner of the room. I like this stoic Nord.

"Impressive." Remarks Arngeir. "Your Thu'um is precise. You show great promise, Dragonborn. We will perform your next trial in the courtyard. Follow Master Borri." He gestures towards one of his fellow monks, who starts towards the double set of doors that form the back wall.

The courtyard is rather bleak, snow-covered and cold. There is a fire-pit, but it isn't anywhere near the area they're taking me, Lydia following a short distance behind.

"We will now see how you learn a completely new Shout." Says Arngeir, behind us. "Master Borri will teach you 'Wuld', which means 'whirlwind'." Again, a Word etched into the snow, the heated learning.

"You must hear the Word within yourself before you can project in into a Thu'um. Approach Master Borri and he will gift you his knowledge of 'Wuld'." I can't help but hear the Word 'within myself', but I don't think echoes bouncing around my skull is what he meant. Nevertheless, I take a step forward and accept the embrace of the light.

Wuld. I know now how to use this to my advantage, to quickly get away from an opponent, to add distance.

"Now we will see how quickly you can master a new Shout." Arngeir, Borri and another Greybeard cross the courtyard towards a short, free-standing pillar of stone, Borri heading towards a gate that stands a short distance away, barring the way to nowhere. I think I see where this is going.

"Master Wulfgar will demonstrate Whirlwind Sprint, then it will be your turn. Master Borri?"

"Bex!" Borri says, and the gates swing open.

"Wuld Nah Kest!" says Wulfgar, and blurs through the gate, coming to an abrupt halt on the other side, just before he would've gone straight over the edge of the cliff behind the gate. That's rather dangerous – what if I overshoot and go straight over? I'd die!

"Now it is your turn. Stand next to me. Master Borri will open the gate. Use your Whirlwind Sprint to pass through the gate before it closes." Oh well. Here goes. I step forward.

"Bex!"

"Wuld!" Everything around me blurs momentarily, and suddenly I'm standing just over the threshold of the gate. Does that count? I turn, and see Arngeir's approving nod. Seems so. I walk back over to the Greybeard.

"Your quick mastery of a new Thu'um is...astounding. I'd heard the stories of the abilities of Dragonborn, but to see it for myself..." I've rendered him speechless! I appreciate the compliment, though.

"Thank-you. What's next?"

"You are now ready for your last trial – retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, our founder, from his tomb in the ancient fane of Ustengrav." Another dungeon crawl? At least I won't be alone this time.

"Remain true to the Way of the Voice, and you will return. Sky guard you." With that, the Greybeards turn and head back inside.

I take a deep breath. I'm not entirely sure I want to repeat my experiences from Bleak Falls Barrow, but if I want to know any more about who I am, I'm going to have to, aren't I?

Lydia and I pass through High Hrothgar and head down the mountain path. There is nothing left to attack us now from our ascent, but at least there are still enough hours of daylight yet to see by.

We soon reach the village at the bottom of the mountain. I go searching for the wrinkled Nord and find him standing on the bank of the river, next to another chiming nirnroot. I ignore the plant for now and catch Klimmek's attention.

"Ah, good to see you again! How did that delivery go?"

"I delivered the supplies to High Hrothgar." I inform him.

"Quite a climb, wasn't it? Anyway, much appreciated. Here, take this for your troubles." Well, it would be quite rude of me not to accept the coin-purse he offers! Thanks again for the legwork." Klimmek turns and heads towards the inn.

I carefully extract the glowing little plant from the earth and put it in my bag with the other, then head off back down the goat track. At the bottom of the slope, a sabre cat finishes killing a goat, then looks at me. Before I can draw my sword, however, it turns and runs off. What?

The trip back to the road is quiet. As our feet touch the worn stone, a wolf emerges from the underbrush and dashes past us after a rabbit, not even pausing when it stepped on my boot. This must have something to do with what happened when I finished reading the emblems. Not that I mind!

Crossing a bridge, we pass a trio of Stormcloaks who are obviously on their way back to base. When we get back to the twin towers, marked on my map as Valtheim, we get stopped by the bandits.

"Hold it – this here's a toll road, see?" The girl says. "You're going to have to hand over, say, 200 gold if you want to use our road." I'm not handing over that sort of cash!

"How does 50 gold sound?" I try to persuade her, expecting an order to attack in response.

"Eh, fine." She says instead. "I can tell you aren't worth the trouble. Just get out of here before I change my mind." I the purse of gold to her, then continue down the road, Lydia giving the group wary glances as we go.

A little way down the road, I try to jog past a group of warriors who are just wandering down the path, but they draw their weapons and attack us. More bandits! Lydia and I deal with them quickly. I'm getting tired of all this battle. Can't we just have one trip where someone or something doesn't try to kill me?

The sun is getting close to setting when we reach the bridges, so I decide to go back to Whiterun for the night.

I reach the marketplace and head into a shop, the sign outside proclaiming it to be 'Belethor's General Goods'.

"Got something for just about everybody in here." The proprietor says as the door closes behind us. "Give a holler if you have any questions." I have a quick glance around as I approach the counter.

"Everything's for sale, friend, everything! If I had a sister, I'd sell her in a second!"

"Give over, Belethor." It's the first thing I've heard Lydia say since we left Dragonsreach.

"At the moment, it's more what can I sell to you." I say as I start emptying my satchel of unwanted goods onto the counter. As he counts out the gold for the items, I have a closer look at the contents of the shelves. "Actually, I'd like to purchase some healing potions, some lockpicks and...those two spell books, please."

Belethor extracts the relative amount of gold from the total worth of the items I'm selling and reaches down the products I asked for.

"Do come back." The shopkeeper says as I tuck my purchases into my bag and head out the door. I read the spell books as Lydia closes the door behind us, the arcane knowledge briefly flooding my mind before fading back into the far reaches where my magical knowledge sits. I look up to see an argument taking place in front of one of the stalls.

"Foolish old woman." Says the richly dressed man, who was standing next to the Imperial soldier from before, when I first entered the city. "You know nothing! Nothing of our struggles, our suffering!" Funny, I've never seen a rich man suffer much.

"Nothing?" asks the poor old lady they've ganged up on. "And what of my son, hmm? What of Thorald, is he nothing? So don't talk to me about suffering!"

"Your son chose his side, and he chose poorly." Says the young Nord. "And now he's gone. Such is the way of war – the sooner you accept his loss, the better."

"I will never accept his death! My son still lives, I feel it in my heart. So tell me, Battle-Borns – where is he? Where are you hiding my Thorald?"

"Do you believe this old hag?" laughs the richly dressed man, who can't be that much younger. "Why, I've got him in my cellar – he's my prisoner. Face it, cow! Your stupid son is dead. He died a Stormcloak traitor, and you...you'd best keep your mouth shut before you suffer the same." I'm amazed the nearby guardsman isn't intervening at this point – that was a blatant death threat!

"Come on, Father. There's nothing more to be said here." The two Battle-Borns walk away, leaving the poor woman on the edge of tears.

The sun is touching the horizon now, so I head into the inn.

"Welcome! Let me know if you want anything...think I got a clean mug around here somewhere." Hulda greets me across the room as the bard stands up and pulls out his lute.

"This is an ode to Skyrim's staunch protectors." He announces, as he begins to strum. "The Imperials." He launches into the song. I pause to listen.

"We drink to our youth, to days come and gone, for the age of aggression is just about done." Sings the bard. "We'll drive out the Stormcloaks and restore what we own. With our blood and our steel we will take back our home. Down with Ulfric, the killer of kings! On the day of your death we will drink and we'll sing. We're the children of Skyrim and we fight all our lives, and when Sovngarde beckons, every one of us dies! But this land is ours, and we'll see it wiped clean, of the scourge that has sullied our hopes and our dreams." Well. I'm not sure I approve greatly of this one. I munch on the sweetroll I bought the day before – still good – and a bottle of mead looted from the dead wolf-catcher.

When I have finished the last swill of mead, I approach the bard.

"Mikael." He introduces himself. "I'm a bard by trade. Perhaps you've heard of me?" Nope. Not at all.

"Can I make a request?" I ask.

"Sure, what can I do for you?"

"Can you sing that one you did the first time I was in here?" I don't know the name.

"Ragnar the Red? Ah, a fine but bloody tale. I can do that one." After accepting the small amount of gold I offered, he raises his lute and starts.

"Oh, there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red who came riding to Whiterun from ole Rorikstead!" The other patrons perk up to listen, and join in, to his fine Nord voice. "And the braggart did swagger and brandish his blade as he told of bold battles and gold he had made! But then he went quiet did Ragnar the Red, when he met the shield-maiden Matilda who said... Oh you talk and you lie and you drink all our mead, now I think it's high time you lie down and bleed! And so then came the clashing and slashing of steel as the brave lass Matilda charged in full of zeal! And the braggart named Ragnar was boastful no moooree... when his ugly red head rolled around on the floor!" The last line was practically shouted by everyone, who then applauded Mikael and went back to their drinks.

I head to the bar.

"I enjoy this work well enough," comments Hulda. "but I'm ready to retire. I've been thinking of selling the inn to Ysolda. Anyway, what do you need?"

"I'd like to rent a room." I hand over the ten gold as she reminds me I only have the room for one day. I notice a quiet, armoured woman sat in the corner, so I sidle over to talk to her.

"Uthgerd the Unbroken." She says. "Think you can go blade to blade with me? You'd be dead in six seconds." If I couldn't tell otherwise, I'd say she was drunk, but it seems she's just plain boastful. I don't like the attitude.

"You think you can take me on?" I say, stretching my fingers in my new gauntlets, taken from the bandit group along with the banded iron armour I now wear.

"And why not?" Comes the response. As expected. "I could beat anyone in this city, bare-handed. A hundred gold says I knock your hide to the ground."

"You're on." I say as I count out the mentioned total, and place it in a purse on the table Uthgerd is sat at. She tops it off with another hundred coins as she rises, saying:

"Just fists. No weapons, no magic...no crying. Let's go!" And she suddenly swings a fist at me.

I anticipated the attempt though, so I dodge to the side and deal a quick one-two before she can block. The brawl continues a lot like this, me dodging some, blocking others, all the while throwing my own fists forward into the steel-covered body of my opponent. She lands the occasional hit, and blocks some of mine, but it isn't long before she's crouched on the ground, tonguing her jaw to test for loose teeth.

"Now that's what I call a punch!" She praises me as she rises. "You got me."

"I think I've earned that hundred gold." I smile. She gave a good fight, I have to admit.

"You're no liar – best fight I've had in years." Uthgerd tosses me the purse. "There you are. If you ever need another blade at your side, just ask. Wouldn't mind seeing how you handle a few trolls!" With that, she reclaims her seat and signals for a top-up.

I head upstairs to the room, undress, and with Lydia standing guard, sleep the night through.


	5. An Average Journey

Dawn finds me leaving Whiterun, Lydia at my side. I follow the road back to the bridges, and take the left turn instead. Heading north, we pass a couple of farms, the second proclaiming itself to be the Battle-Born farm in large letters on a sign next to the road. A little further down the road, we encounter a ragged pair, their clothing scorched.

"There are dragons about, traveller. Be warned!" Says the male as we approach.

"I know – I was at Helgen." I reassure him.

"Then you've seen them too! We lost our home, our livestock...we barely have enough gold to get by." His wife attempts to dust some soot off of her dress as he speaks, to no avail.

"Here you go." I offer them a small handful of coins, which the farmer takes gratefully.

"Thank-you, traveller! Be safe, and don't forget to keep an eye on the sky!" The two smile as they continue towards the city.

A little further on, a cart stands, one wheel lying in the middle of the road, and a colourfully-dressed man standing nearby. What is a jester doing out here, and why does he have a massive crate on the cart?

"Argh! Bother and befuddle!" He says in a sing-song manner when he sees us. "Stuck here – stuck! My mother, my poor mother. Unmoving! At rest, but too still." There's something not quite right about this fellow, but I should at least try to help him.

"Problem?" I ask, even though the cause of his angst is plain. But then again, many people have an obvious problem, yet need help for something else. Suddenly, a similar situation springs to mind. Back in Morrowind, a man had slipped; twisting his foot into an angle no appendage should sit in, and was in imminent danger of being crushed by the fleeing townsfolk. A couple of Dunmer had stopped to try and lift him up to prop him up on their shoulders, but he refused them, instead insisting they help his guar escape, even though the creatures were nowhere to be seen.

"Poor Cicero is stuck – can't you see?" The man cries, bringing me back to the present. "I was transporting my poor, sweet mother. Well, not her – her corpse; she's quite dead! I'm taking Mother to a new home, a new crypt, but...aah! Wagon wheel, damnedest wagon wheel! It broke, don't you see?" Not like the Dunmer guar-guard then.

"Is there some way I can help?" No sooner has the offer left my mouth, than the little merry-man starts dancing!

"Yes, oh yes! Yes, the kindly stranger can certainly help! Go to the Loreius Farm – just over there off the road." He gestures up the slope the road twists around, atop which I can see a windmill. "Talk to Loreius – he has tools, he can help me. But he won't – he refuses! Convince Loreius to fix my wheel. Do that and poor Cicero will reward you – with coin! Gleamy, shiny coin!" This little man is definitely a few notes short of a ballad.

I turn away from Cicero and his broken cart, his horse snorting after me, and head up the track toward the farm. There, a man and his wife are tilling a field. I lean on the fence and call out to the man, who I assume to be Loreius.

"Oh, for the love of Mara, what now?" He says, exasperated, then straightens from his hoeing and approaches.

"The, um..." How to describe Cicero? "Little man really needs your help. With his wagon?"

"That Cicero fella? Huh! Tell me something I don't know. Crazy fool's already asked me about five times. Seems he's not satisfied with my answer. Why can't he just leave us alone?" What a grumpy old man! Well, I call him old ... I'm not exactly young myself, though I haven't yet reached my prime. Great, now I do feel old. Dammit.

"So what's the problem? I'm sure he'll pay you..."

"Pay me?" Spluttered the farmer. "You think this is about money? Have you seen the man? He's completely out of his head! A jester, here is Skyrim? Aint been a merry man in these parts for a hundred years! And he's transporting some giant box. Says it's a coffin, and he's going to bury his mother. Mother my eye – he could have anything in there! War contraband, weapons, skooma! Aint no way I'm getting involved in any of that!"

"He's a stranger who needs assistance." I try to persuade him. "Please, do the right thing."

"What? And who in Mara's name are you, anyway, hm?" The one who could Shout you over the hill if you don't give over. "Come here, telling me my business. And for what? To help a...a...a fool?"

One last try. "You know you should help him."

"Look, I...I...You're right, you're right. Fella might be nutters, might not, but fact is he needs my help. I turn him away, what kind of a man am I? Sorry for my un-neighbourly reaction. If you talk to Cicero, you be sure to tell him I'll be down to help soon." With that, he drops is hoe and heads towards the farmhouse.

I return to the road and the broken cart.

"Poor Mother...her new home seems so very far..." bemoans the strange little man.

"I talked to Loreius. He's agreed to fix your wagon wheel." I inform him, and he twitches.

"You...you did? He has?! Oh stranger!" He begins to caper across the road and back as he speaks. "You have made Cicero so happy! So jubilant and ecstatic! But more – even more! My mother thanks you!" He stops and pulls out a coin-purse. "Here, here – for your troubles. Shiny, clinky gold! A few coins for a kind deed. And thank-you, thank-you again!"

As I walk away, I open the little bag, and pause, surprised. This is a lot of money! There is definitely something more to that little gleeman. I tuck the purse away and follow the road.

A few miles north, it is so cold the snow still lies in shallow banks against the occasional stone wall. No sooner have our feet begun to crunch through the fallen ice, than the sky goes grey and it begins to snow. Through the flakes, I can see where a western road joins the one Lydia and I currently travel, and an Orc wandering around the corpses of two sabre cats. Wonder what he's doing here, in the cold?

"If you're not here to grant me a good death, then you can leave." He rumbles when I catch his attention.

"A good death?" I ask, puzzled.

"Yes – were I to simply lay down and die, it would not please Malacath." Ah – a religious thing. I don't want to go against someone's wishes, especially when the god concerned a Daedric Lord.

"Perhaps I could give you the death you seek?" I say, not really enjoying the prospect of assisted suicide, but willing to do so. The wrath of a god can be devastating.

"Perhaps... Are you sure about this?"

"Yes, I am sure. I will give you a good death." Considering the bodies at his feet, this means a fight.

"Hm." Considers the hulking man. "We shall see..." With this, he drew his mace and prepared to swing.

I manage to block his first blow with my sword, and the next, but his third lands with a sickening thud on my shoulder. If it wasn't for my armour, my arm would be useless. As he reels from the rebound, I manage to slip in a couple of swipes at the un-protected flesh between the bands in his hide armour. His iron weapon descends towards my head, but I dodge and land another blow to his back, causing him to throw himself upright, his arms flailing. The speed of the battle has my heart pumping, and bloodlust overtakes me.

Three more of his attacks are swiftly blocked, and another swing causes one of the spikes on his mace to catch on my blade. I push the mace up over his head, detaching our weapons, and before he can react, I slash his legs out from under him, then swipe at the soft skin of his neck, half beheading him. If that wasn't a good death, I don't know what is. The need to kill fades, and I sheath my weapon, after using a snow-bank to wash off the blood. The blade now sports a long scratch where the iron spike tore a groove. I'll have to see to that when I find the materials. After skinning the two cats, planning to sell the pelts as payment for my deed, I check my map. I'm way too far east of my target, so, checking the signpost at the crossroads, I follow the western road towards Dawnstar.

After dodging past a couple of spiders – gods, I hate those things – Lydia and I reach a fort, through which the road passes, and occupied by several, hide-armoured figures. Damn – bandits never wear better than iron. Drawing my bow, I sneak through the wooden palisade, the gate across the road wide open. The patrolling bandits haven't seen us yet, so carefully aiming, I shoot one in the back. No-one seems to notice him fall, so I wait for one of the others to reappear.

Nothing happens, so I sneak up the wooden steps and onto the stone walls of the dilapidated buildings. I can see the body of the one I shot, and another is walking away from us past a door into the keep. Slowly, I draw another shaft to my cheek, just as she stops, and turns – a spots us.

Blast! I quickly loose the arrow, sending it driving deep into her shoulder. She hardly flinches, until another arrow from Lydia quickly throws her back about a foot, sending her sprawling on her back, never to get up again. This, however, has caught the attention of their archer, and he sends an arrow whistling over my head. As I turn and aim towards him, his next shot clatters to a halt at my feet. Thanking the gods for a poor shooter, I send my regards straight into his heart.

All opposition outside dealt with and looted, I head towards the small house opposite the fort. I may as well clear out the interiors – don't want these bandits taking their anger at their comrades' death out on innocent travellers.

Inside, the room is set out like a bar, a warm fire burning in the hearth and above it, the stuffed head of a sabre cat, tilted so that the wine bottle wedged between its teeth doesn't fall out. There are a couple of lockpicks on the counter top, which I take along with the gold and ingredients lying around. I can hear shuffling down in the cellar, but whoever it is hasn't noticed us – Lydia coughs.

Great. The shuffling has become two pairs of feet hurrying up the stairs. I hope you feel guilty now, Lydia, as great a companion as you are.

The first bandit to appear gets an arrow through the throat before he even turns around the bannister. The female, however, just steps over his body and charges towards me, battleaxe raised above her head at the beginning of a deadly swing. Then she topples backwards over her late fellow, first Lydia's then my arrows thudding into her torso one by one. Swiping their money and other light, sellable items, I slowly head down the sloped ladder to the cellar, straightening and swinging my bow onto my back when it is clear that the only other person in the building is already dead.

The poor man must have been the original proprietor of this little tavern. This doesn't stop me from checking all the containers in the room, taking the gold on the table nearby and picking the lock on the chest next to the bed to take the contents, though. Hey, a girl has to make money somehow, even if it is from stealing from the dead! Though, I suppose it isn't stealing when the original owner is dead, and his murderers dead too... Oh well.

Leaving the little building, I head through a stone archway and through a large pair of reinforced wooden doors, into the main keep itself.

The bandits here are, at first, distracted by the skeever fighting league they've set up in the main room, but they hear the squeak of the door's hinges as we enter, and decide that killing us and taking our stuff is much more interesting. I raise my bow, Lydia draws her sword, and we 'set to work', as it were.

Two bandits down, and Lydia falls into a crouch, obviously very injured. I stand, drawing my own steel blade, and slash and hack at the fool who felled her. He doesn't even have time to block before I manage a lucky hit, slashing his neck wide open. I seem to be good at this 'going for the throat' business. Gods help me when I meet a foe in better armour in real battle.

The skeevers ignore me – the effects of the emblems hasn't worn off yet – so I nick the cheese off of the nearby shelves to sell later. They may not get me much, but every little helps. I wonder if this need for wealth is my Dragon Blood influencing my nature?

Across a short hallway is a kitchen, which is soon emptied of supplies, along with the room up the stairs. There isn't much in the way of loot, but there is a locked chest that has a couple of potions in it that should fetch a pretty penny or twelve.

Returning outside via a trapdoor in the ceiling, we duck inside another door, leading to a small outer chamber, lined with shelves. These turn out to hold quite the library, along with a couple of potions and some alchemical ingredients, so I take the lot. Opening the other door reveals a smallish bedroom – and a bandit. Luckily this door is better hung than the other, so the hinges don't complain. This gives me time to aim an arrow at the woman's back before she sees us, and the arrow flies true – straight through her skull. OK, that wasn't really what I was aiming for, but a good result nonetheless.

After clearing the room and the corpse of all easily-carry-able, valuable items, I lead Lydia out and towards yet another door in the thick stone walls. This one turns out to lead to the mezzanine of two sets of stairs – and a pair of bandits, angry at our disturbing their quiet wandering. They charge towards us, blades hefted. The ruckus of our fight attracts another fellow, but this one is wearing solid steel plate and has a golden battleaxe. Crap – this must be the boss.

"Fus Ro!" I shout at him, throwing him halfway up the stairwell and giving Lydia and I time to deal with his subordinates before trying to match weaponry with him. This also scatters several wooden plates around the area that were originally on a shelf nearby. Okay, no Shouting indoors. In friendly environments, at least, but I wouldn't do that anyway.

The bandit chief struggles to his feet – remind me to never get knocked over wearing full plate – and storms towards us, unheeding of the bodies of his former underlings. His axe raised, it takes both Lydia and I to block – this guy's strong! Tag teaming soon fells the fetcher, though, and now his belongings are mine. We've done quite a bit of damage to that armour though – I think I'll keep what I have for now; it's in better condition.

Wow – it didn't take me long to get over my aversion to wearing the clothes of the dead, did it? Oh well.

I take a moment to choose a direction, and during my internal discussion, I notice a coin-purse sat on the ledge above the downwards staircase. Down it is! I just have to see if I can get that money, first.

I edge carefully along the narrow ledge, slipping past the support pillar. As I near the little sack, however, I feel my grip on the stonework loosening, but I manage to grab the purse as my fingers finally give in, and I fall onto the stairs below. Luckily, I'm pretty sure-footed, so I don't completely lose my balance and tumble the rest of the way down the stone steps.

At the bottom, a pool of oil awaits the unwary adventurer – obviously they would've ignited it as one was wandering along the corridor, but no-one remains to do so. A wicked impulse takes me, and using the simple flame spell I remember Mother teaching me when I was a child, I burn the viscous liquid. Lydia just looks at me, sighs, then continues her stoic surveillance. Whatever – I was cold!

When the flames have died down, I follow the corridor to the room at the end and clear it out. When I've finished, I lead the way back up the stairs, all the way to the top, were another room sits with a pool of oil for a rug.

I take all the objects of value I can find, then I use the alchemy lab to have a go at brewing up my own potions. Most of them turn into a horrible smelling liquid, which for some strange, possibly magical, reason evaporate into an equally nasal-assaulting gas. A few, however, meld into a not-so-evil-smelling concoction that looks like it might do something, so I pocket these few to sell later. Then, after making sure Lydia is out of the way, I burn off the oil in this room too – just so future tenants don't have any ready-made traps.

A ladder to another ceiling-trapdoor leads to the roof of the tower, a chest with some minor loot inside and a chair with some alcohol and a couple of potions at the foot. Taking these, I retreat down the ladder, Lydia following. Why she even followed me up there, I have no idea. Maybe for the view, shoddy as it was.

It's not long before we're out of the confines of the fort. As I wander past the palisade wall that makes up the opposing wall, I see a faded sign hanging from one chain on the stone wall, naming the place Fort Dunstad. Huh.

The road is, steadily but surely, turning north. Unwilling to go cross country until I absolutely have to, I fervently hope for another road heading westward. I'm in luck – one appears in the snowy mist ahead of me, as the road Lydia and I are currently on follows the slope towards the snowy roofs of what must be Dawnstar I can barely see ahead.

I'm checking the sun to guess at how much daylight is left when we come across the open ruin of what looks a little like a small barrow of some kind, but instead of coffins, I find when I explore inside, there's a little open space filled with snow-covered bushes, and a chest with practically nothing in it.

Further along, the road enters some pine woodland, the road occasionally lined with the ruins of what was once a wall. Ahead, there seems to be quite the ruckus, so I jog ahead to investigate to find a pair of bandits just finishing off a mage. They then turn on me, so I whip out my sword and swiftly deal with them, looting the corpses of not just the criminals, but their victims too. I also take the potions and ingredients they had in their cart, then I carry on along the road, Lydia trailing behind.

The road leads us past a mine, the sign outside proclaiming that we'd just passed Stonehills, and towards the bright daylight glittering beyond the treeline. A little further on, I check my map again and find we've come pretty close to our target, but it's starting to dull over, this time with twilight, so I take the branching road towards a little swamp town, marked on my map as Morthal.

Outside a large structure I assume to be the Jarl's residence, judging by the size alone, an argument is taking place between a couple of the townsfolk and a man standing on the steps in front of the door.

"What's the Jarl going to do about it?" Yells one of the figures crowded around the stairs.

"How are we supposed to feel safe in our own homes?" cries another. What's going on here? Is there a hagraven stalking the town or something?

"Please, enough already!" the poor fellow on the steps says. "I have told Idgrod of your concerns. She'll look after you all. Please, go back to your business." With that statement, he heads inside.

"We've no need for wizards in our midst!" So that's what this is all about? Inbreeds.

"Morthal has enough problems as it is!"

'What if the wizard is trying to solve those problems?' I feel like shouting back, but I don't want two angry Nords bearing down on me. I've had enough warfare for one day, and considering how the natives of this frozen place treat those who aren't Nords, I'd rather dodge the torment for now.

"Bah, it's no use." One of the arguers gives in, catching the other on the elbow as he turns. "Let's get back to it then." They wander through the muddy street and away from where Lydia and I stand. Shrugging my shoulders, I head towards the inn, ducking under the sign covered with the painted words 'The Moorside Inn'. I approach the Redguard at the counter.

"There aint much to offer, but if you want a place dry to spend the night, I'll rent you a room." She says by way of greeting.

I'm too tired by now to speak, so I just dump ten coins on the counter.

"Ah. Sure thing – it's yours for a day. I'm Jonna. I'll show you to your room – right this way." She leads us to a room with a table, a chair, a bedside cabinet – and a double bed. I'm too tired to feel awkward though, so I just strip off the more pointy bits of metal and flop onto the straw.


	6. Ustengrav

I don't think I have ever not looked forward to getting up before, what with these weird, violent dreams I keep having. I finish strapping on the rest of my armour as we leave the inn, crossing the bridge over the river near the town and passing the lumber camp out into the wilderness of the swamp. I've never really enjoyed travelling cross-country. Hopefully, this Ustengrav isn't too far into this murk. Luckily, the denizens of the marsh are ignoring me, thanks to the effects of the emblems. I hope it doesn't wear off too soon.

The stony edges of what I assume to be Ustengrav emerge from the mud, so I draw my bow and sneak towards it. As expected, I am attacked by a pair of bandits and a necromancer, all of whom are soon dealt with. One of them disintegrates into a pile of ash – he must have died a couple of days before Lydia and I even got here and been raised by the necromancer in an attempt at protection. After looting the corpses, we descended into the gloom of Ustengrav.

The stairs into the first major area are strewn with the corpses of the bandits that must have been this part's former tenants. As I take the gold and valuables off of them, I hear a conversation being struck up on the other side of the room, where a couple of zombies are picking away at a pile of rubble, supervised by a couple of necromancers.

"These thralls of yours are slower than Argonians in a blizzard." One was grumbling.

"Feel free to grab a pick and help them out. I prefer not to sully myself with manual labour." Snarks his female companion. No sooner has she finished her sentence than one of the zombies drops its pick and slumps to the floor.

"There goes another one." The first necromancer points out.

"Bah – weak-willed rabble. Even dead they're almost useless." The female raises the fallen dead and it retrieves the pickaxe, swinging it against the stone.

"They seem less intelligent each time you raise them, if that's even possible."

"As long as they can swing a pickaxe where I tell them, they're as smart as we need them to be." They paused, both staring towards the passage leading deeper into the tomb.

"You hear that?" The male asked. "The others must have found something!"

"We'd better go see. These can tend to themselves for a few minutes." They both wander off down the corridor towards the commotion only they could hear.

I loot the nearby deceased Draugr before I head toward the unfortunate undead and put them out of their misery. They may have been bandits, but no-one deserves that. I clear the nearby table of food and the chest of valuable items, then follow the necromancers deeper into this forsaken place.

Down some steps graced with the stiffening body of a mage, there's a lot of noise coming from a nearby room, that of growling Draugr and panicked spell-casting. I wait for the noise to die down, depriving some corpses of their gold as I linger in the corner just before the doorway. Soon, the only sound coming from the echoing chamber is the odd growl. I peek around to find the room scattered with the bodies of necromancers, including the two from before, and Draugr. I finish off the remains, as it were, then clean the cadavers of their belongings and carry on down the corridor.

As I follow the passage, I notice a doorway leading to some stairs descending further into the ground, so I turn away from my intended goal and follow the stone steps into a small chamber, the only contents a stone table covered in gold, with a battleaxe beneath. While I am collecting the coins, I notice a chain in the wall. Curious, I pull it – and a section of the stone wall creeps back, which then drops into the floor, revealing a narrow passage. At the end of the tunnel, instead of a light, is a small room with a chest, which I quickly empty then return to the main corridor.

The corridor widens into a long room, lined on one side by alcoves, each with a sarcophagus standing on its end inside. The first is open; its inhabitant lying sprawled over the lid. The other two fall open as I loot the corpse, the former inhabitants growling as they approach.

The first falls as my arrow takes in right in the face, but the other closes the distance before I can draw a new arrow. I draw my sword, not even bothering to put my bow on my back. This makes things a little awkward, but it's nothing I cannot handle, and soon the foolish creature lies as dead as its erstwhile companions. They don't carry that much gold, but I take what little there is, along with the gem one had.

At the end of the room, a corridor follows up a twisting staircase, leading to a small area above the coffin-lined space, adorned with a broken shelf and some pots, hiding amongst which is a chest and some potions, which I loot. Across a bridge, the passage descends some stairs, at the base of which is a door, a skeleton and a small sack of gold. Picking up the purse, I push the door open and slip through.

I'm feeling a little peckish now, so I call a temporary halt. I offer some food to Lydia, but she refuses – I have never yet seen this woman eat – so I tuck into some grilled leeks and a couple of tomatoes on my own before following the rocky slope toward the open gap I see ahead of me.

The gap gives us an excellent view of the large, deep open space. The air is misty with dust, and distant shuffling warns me that we are not alone, but – just wow. Far below is a waterfall, cascading into the depths which the dust prevents me from seeing into.

"I've never seen anything quite like that." Mutters Lydia, and I silently agree as I turn toward the passage leading off to our left. Not far down, I shoot a Draugr before it even realises we are there, then stop as we come across some discoloured tiles in the floor. The two lining the narrow part of the passage are darker than the two on the left, but all four have suspicious holes.

I poke the darker tile with the end of my orcish bow, and flame gushes from the holes. I do the same with the lighter ones, but with no resulting fire, so I dash across these, Lydia dancing after.

The next room seems to be the remains of a banqueting hall, with a Draugr patrolling the floor and another on the bridge on the other side of the room. Both of these I kill easily, one arrow each, and I proceed to loot the corpses and the hall, along with the side room. When everything of value has been removed, I follow the next corridor to the next room.

This one only has a couple of coffins in it, a large puddle of oil on the floor and a couple of loosely hanging ceramic lanterns dangling from the ceiling. No sooner have I taken one step into the room than the coffins crash open, and the Draugr inside emerge.

Quickly, I shoot down the lantern closest to me, igniting the oil and the undead monsters. While the creatures burn, I glance around the room, noticing a small side room blocked off by two portcullis-like gates, one lever next to them and another above one of the coffins.

Soon, the flames burn out, and I cross the room towards the lever above the sarcophagus, looting the crispy undead as I pass. After tugging the lever, I round the wall and pull the other one, raising the gates and allowing myself access to the side-room. Inside, is an enchanting table, a chest with some minor loot inside and a shelf with nothing of value except an empty soul gem. I use the enchanting to my advantage, learning the enchantments of the various magical items I have picked up so far. I consider attempting to enchant something myself, but I currently lack the experience and the necessary filled gems, so I back out of the room and take the rocky tunnel out of the burnt room.

This leads to another opening into the cavern which we saw from the balcony earlier. I have a clearer view of the contents – and the occupants – than before, and I carefully snipe the skeletons that roam the upper level.

Looking around, I see an opening level with our current position in the wall opposite, with the remains of a bridge crossing the gap. I can use my new Shout to get there. Asking Lydia to wait, I jump over the small gaps and Shout my way across the larger gaps until I reach a narrow passage leading to a small area, blocked off from the rest of the room where the ceiling caved in. The Draugr corpse inside holds nothing but a soul gem in its shrivelled hand, and the chest has only a little more of value inside.

I hop back to where Lydia waits, and lead her down the broken ramp of the bridge down to the upper level of the massive cave, where the bones of the skeletons lie in scattered heaps. Some of the rolling ribcages have quivers full of arrows on their back, so I take these and explore the rest of the area, finding nothing much of great value except for a couple of gems in the rest of the rubble-divided room.

This is getting to be quite boring actually, roaming around dark, dank dungeons looking for some object. The exact whereabouts of the item I would love to know, but things are never that easy. I've already forgotten what time it is – for all I know, we've been down here a day already and will still be here next week. But this is no time for moping – so I follow a ramp down to the bottom of the cavern.

A Word Wall is waiting for me. Calling me.

Mesmerised, I wander closer, my hand outstretched toward the dark stone.

Warmth suffuses me. The Word burrows into my being.

Feim. This is how I can dodge damage, while paying the price of doing none of my own.

I shake my head, waking myself from my trance as the chanting of the wall fades into nothingness. Looking around, I see that the waterfall cascades into a small pool at the base of the wall, disappearing under the stony ground beyond. Another ramp leads up to a small raised area. The waterfall sounds hollow, so drawing my sword, I head towards and through it into a small cave behind the white water. Inside is a coffin and a chest, along with an orcish sword, which I swap for my steel blade, which is in not so good a condition. Which is surprising, seeing as who knows how long the orcish blade has been there?

No sooner have I switched weapons, than the stone container bursts open and the Draugr inside growls as it swings its axe towards my head. Blocking, I kick it back into its coffin before slicing it into ribbons. Every time, those things make me jump when that lid smashes away from the rest of the stonework. My nerves will be in tatters by the time I get out of here.

That's it. As soon as I get back to that inn, I'm getting drunk. I don't care if I'll regret it in the morning.

I climb the rock ramp up to the small raised area at the back of the cavern, shaking the water out of my boots as I go, and I mine the nearby corundum vein to calm myself. Soon, I am no longer hating what I have to do and have resigned myself to finishing the job. I straighten and head toward a chest near the back of the area and remove the contents, then continue on along the ledge, jumping down the cracks towards a silver vein, which I clear before heading back up the main ramp back up to where the skeletons were.

Crossing the rock bridge to the other side of the cavern, I shoot down a skeleton archer before it has a chance to aim, then I inspect the three stones standing in the middle of the room, two on one side, one halfway between on the other. The way ahead is blocked by three iron gates. I don't see any levers or chains to open these gates from where I stand, so I approach to get a closer look.

As I pass the nearest stone, a deep note sounds and the first gate slides open, but as I draw away from the now-glowing rock, the gate closes and the carved rock dims. I think I understand what I have to do.

Asking Lydia to again wait for me, I ready myself in front of the trio of stones, then sprint forward as fast as I can. The three stones light up in succession, but I can tell I'm not going to make it without Shouting.

"Wuld!" I cry, and I dash towards the gates. Halfway through, I repeat myself – there must be a sort of ambient charm making it easier to Shout in this particular part of the tomb – and I am through the gates.

I turn to find the first gate has closed itself again, but as I watch it opens up again, and this time, all three stay open. Warily, I return to the previous chamber, but all three portcullises stay open, so I motion to Lydia to resume following my armoured form and follow the narrow passage to a smaller room.

"I've got a bad feeling about this." Lydia murmurs as we enter the space.

There is a small raised platform in the centre of the room, lined with fire trap-plates with a bright brazier in the centre. I know what to look for now, so I climb up the shallow steps and cross the platform, sticking to the lighter coloured plates. Beyond, I find the floor is a solid sheet of fire-plates, with an obvious path of lighter ones leading across fallen rubble.

The twisting path leads into a large room, with frostbite spiders scuttling across the large raised area in the middle. Looking up, I spot a larger one hiding in a hole in the ceiling, but the charm I am currently under means none of the horrible things take the blindest bit of notice of us. The doorway on the other side of the room is smothered in webbing, which I burn through with a simple spell to reveal the wooden door beyond.

I pause after Lydia and I file through the opening, remembering a spell book I picked up near the beginning of this damned crawl. I pull it out of my satchel and open the pages, watching the paper dissolve to ash as the arcane knowledge seeps into my mind. The ash disappears into thin air as I head towards the chain hanging from the wall which opens the large iron grill barring my progression into a great chamber, water making medium-sized pools on either side of the walkway towards an ornate coffin. In each corner is a simpler sarcophagus, the previous owners of which lie sprawled at the foot of each.

As I start into the dusty space, I gasp, pausing in wonder as, from each of the pools rise two tall pillars, carved in the basic likeness of a gaping maw. A similar exclamation comes from Lydia behind me as I head on down the stairs and along the walkway. Then my face falls in dismay.

The horn is not there.

In its place, a short note lies. Ignoring it for now, I take out my frustration by emptying the nearby urns of their wealth; only when I have finished and can find nothing else do I read the note.

Dragonborn. I need to speak to you – urgently. Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood, and I'll meet you. A friend. I can hardly trust someone who only signs off as 'a friend' but it seems I must. To Riverwood it is. If I ever get out of this place.

Beyond the ornate tomb is a door leading to a small room, gold scattered on the floor and in front of a chest sitting on a platform opposite the door. Gathering the gold, and clearing the chest and the urns also in the room of wealth, I lead Lydia up the narrow tunnel and through an iron door into a small room full of urns. These are soon emptied, as are the ones in the next room; then, emerging through an open doorway, I find myself in the corridor in which the necromancers had battled the Draugr.

Picking up the numerous bottles of mead as I pass, I hurry out of the tomb and into the fresh afternoon air. Obviously I was quicker in there than I thought I was – but then, I did start the day early. I head back towards Morthal and enter the large building in the centre of town, the sign outside naming it the 'Thaumaturgist's Hut'. The interior is filled with barrels and shelves of potions and ingredients, and an alchemy table sits under the stairs up to the higher floor.

"Oh do come in!" cries a voice. A lady emerges from behind the counter. "I hope I have what you need. If you need any alchemy supplies, I'll do my best to provide them, assuming I haven't used them all up!"

I take the chance to use the lab, creating a bunch of potions, but more often than not they turn out to be squibs. The ones that do work, however, I keep, turning to the counter where the pale-haired woman waits.

I buy some of what I have no identified to be healing potions, and sell my creations, the unwanted potions I have collected in my travels and the excess ingredients from my bag, including the two nirnroot, for which I get a good price – as I had anticipated.

"All right then." Says the store owner as I leave - she never even told me her name. Not that I mind; I can't be expected to remember the name of everyone I meet. I head into the inn and listen to the bard as I down the many bottles of alcohol that I found, partially in the hope that being drunk would make the bard sound like he had talent. Soon, I am out of my mind on drink, but the bard sounds no better.

Plonking the required gold on the counter in front of the innkeeper – Jonna, wasn't that her name? – I slump onto the bed and am out like a light.


	7. The Horn of Jurgen Windcaller

Urgh. That was seriously a bad idea. My head is killing me, and it hurts to open my eye even just a little. At least it isn't that bright outside – yet. I force myself upright – and a wave of dizziness and nausea hits me. I try casting my heal spell for a short while, and the feeling dies down, and I feel much better. I cast some more, and soon it is as though I never even looked at a bottle. Hooray for magic!

The air outside is crisp, and it seems that snow has fallen overnight, the guards leaving fresh footprints in the mud. Lydia and I leave the town and follow the road back the way we came yesterday.

A short way down the road I notice an off-shooting path that I missed the previous time we came this way. Following it, we discover it leads to a small ruin, guarded by a skeleton as inept at battle as we are skilled. The effort is for almost nothing, however, as the treasure it was guarding is nought but a few coins and a potion.

Back on the road, the next half hour of our journey is uneventful. My hopes for a quiet trip are dashed, however, when an angry Imperial jumps out at us, brandishing blades and reeking of alcohol. He proves the common theory that you should never fight drunk, as most of hits attacks miss. I'm trying not to hurt him too much, in his drunken state, but Lydia has other ideas – her arrow lands smack-bang in the middle of his face, and he falls to my feet, dead. Oh well.

After emptying his pockets, I lead Lydia on down the road. Soon, we're back at the crossroad where the Orc was, but already there is no sign of his body. Someone must have found it and buried it already.

Past the snowline, an Argonian dressed in skin-tight black-and-red leather leaps at me with a growl and attacks me with its twin blades. I have no choice but to fight back. The armour tickles the back of my mind, but I cannot recall why. Two quick slashes when its guard is temporarily lowered defeats the angry reptile, and I rummage through its pockets, finding some gold, gems, potions and a slip of paper. Taking its daggers too, I slip my gains into my bag and read the note.

As instructed, you are to eliminate Lethandhrel One-Eye by any means necessary. The Black Sacrament has been performed – somebody wants this poor fool dead. We've already received payment for the contract. Failure is not an option. Astrid. What? Why am I wanted dead? Who wants me dead? And why does the armour seem so familiar?

Never mind. I'm sure I'll find out soon enough.

Reaching the Battle-Born Farm, I decide to make a little gold the easy, bloodless way – by helping with the harvest. Their crops look ready for picking, so I gather what I can and approach the nearest farmhand, a young woman. She accepts the crops, paying me a reasonable amount of coin for my effort, then returns to her task of weeding the rows of cabbage at her feet.

I detour to Whiterun, heading back to Belethor's shop to sell the stuff I've collected throughout my recent travels. Buying some lockpicks and potions, I consider staying for a while, doing any local jobs that need doing if I find myself too bored, but I dismiss the idea. I have a Horn to find.

Leaving the Breton and his store, I exit the city and head off down the road towards Riverwood. On one of the sharper bends the road takes up the short incline, I meet a trio of men celebrating for no apparent reason. Seeing my wondering gaze, one of the fellows breaks away from the group and greets me.

"Hail friend! It's good to see another merry soul enjoying this fine day. Ah, but you look tired. Come; share a bottle of Honningbrew Mead with me!" He cries, his friends behind him heartily agreeing.

"I would love to share a drink with you, friend, -" I begin to reject his offer, but he doesn't let me finish.

"Ah, nothing like fine spirits to help raise your...well, your spirits! Cheers, my friend!" He cries as I catch the bottle he tosses my way. "May your adventures find you fame and fortune!" With that, he and his companions leave, most likely in search of a better spot to revel in.

Confused, I pocket the mead anyway and continue on to the little town, ducking into the inn. I find the innkeeper sitting at a table along the near wall. There is no sign of an attic.

"I'm the innkeeper, Delphine. It's my business to keep track of strangers." She says as my shadow falls across her face. Her voice sounds very familiar.

"I'd like to rent the attic room." I say – maybe it is in a separate part of the building.

Taking the gold I offer, Delphine looks surprised, temporarily. "Attic room, eh? Well, we don't have an attic room, but you can have the one on the left. Make yourself at home."

Strange. I head into the indicated room, and turn – to find the innkeeper had followed me in.

"So you're the Dragonborn I've been hearing so much about. I think you're looking for this." She extends her hand to me, and in it she holds what can only be the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller! "We need to talk. Follow me." She leaves, crossing the inn and entering a large bedroom on the other side. Now I know why she sounds so familiar – Delphine must be the hooded figure Farengar was talking with when I brought him the Dragonstone!

"Close the door." I nod to Lydia, and she kicks the door closed behind us. "Now we can talk." Delphine opens the wardrobe in front of her, revealing it to be empty. She pushes a small section of the back panel, and it slides away, revealing a set of stairs leading down into a small room. Inside is a table with a charcoal rubbing on it, some shelves full of alchemical ingredients and a couple of weapon racks. An alchemy table decorates one corner, and an enchanting table another.

Delphine wanders over to the other side of the table and leans on it, careful not to smudge the rubbing, which I realise is a map.

"The Greybeards seem to think you're the Dragonborn. I hope they're right." She says.

"You're the one who took the Horn?" I ask, still not quite believing.

"Surprised?" Delphine smirks. "I guess I'm getting pretty good at my harmless innkeeper act."

"What's with all the cloak and dagger?"

"You can't be too careful. Thalmor spies are everywhere." What? What is she on about?

"What do you want with me?" I get to the point.

"I didn't go to all this trouble on a whim. I needed to make sure it wasn't a Thalmor trap. I'm not your enemy – I already gave you the Horn. I'm actually trying to help you, I just need you to hear me out." Delphine isn't exactly the most straightforward person I've interacted with so far.

"Go on, I'm listening."

"Like I said in my note, I've heard that you might be Dragonborn. I'm part of a group that's been looking for you – well, someone like you, for a very long time." What? Just who is this person? "If you really are Dragonborn, that is. Before I tell you any more, I need to make sure I can trust you."

"Why are you looking for a Dragonborn?"

"We remember what most don't – that the Dragonborn is the ultimate dragon-slayer. You're the only one that can kill a dragon permanently by devouring its soul. Can you do it? Can you devour a dragon's soul?"

I'm still not entirely sure that's what happens. But I suppose I should embrace who I am.

"Yes – that's how I first learned I was Dragonborn."

"Good. And you'll have a chance to prove it to me soon enough."

"So, what's the part you're not telling me?" I'm still sceptical as to her motives.

"Dragons aren't just coming back – they're coming back to life. They weren't gone somewhere for all these years; they were dead, killed off centuries ago by my predecessors. Now something's happening to bring them back to life, and I need you to help me stop it." What in Oblivion?!

"What makes you think dragons are coming back to life?"

"I know they are." Delphine is certainly confident. "I've visited their ancient burial mounds and found them empty. And I've figured out where the next one will come back to life. We're going to go there, and you're going to kill that dragon. If we succeed, I'll tell you anything you want to know." OK, I am very much uncertain as to this woman's sanity, if she's relying on me to kill a dragon. Still, Lydia should help. Oh well.

"Where are we headed?" I ask, resignedly.

"Kynesgrove." Delphine points to a circled area of the map. "There's an ancient dragon burial near there. If we can get there before it happens, maybe we'll learn how to stop it."

"Let's go kill a dragon." I respond. Might as well go along with this crazy plan.

"I need to get into my travelling gear – give me a minute and I'll be ready." Delphine walks over to a chest and changes into a set of leather armour, obviously custom-made. "That's better. Let's get on the road to Kynesgrove." With that, she heads up the stairs back into the bedroom.

Following her up, I wait for Lydia to emerge, then close the cabinet and enter the common room of the inn just in time to catch up with Delphine, who is talking to the barman.

"Orgnar, I'm travelling. You've got the inn 'til I get back." With that, she heads towards the door.

"Right." Orgnar acknowledges. "Happy travels." He returns to wiping down the countertop.

Outside, it's sunny and not too cold – it's like a fresh spring day in Cyrodiil. Delphine descends the few steps onto the road.

"Kynesgrove is this way." She indicates down the road. "We can travel together or split up and meet there. Your choice." Since she knows more of Skyrim than I do, I follow her.

As we travel, she occasionally speaks, but since she is ahead of me, and she doesn't turn her head when she talks, I cannot catch a word of what she says. After crossing the bridge over the river towards the great mountain, a couple of bandits attempt to rob us, but the three of us make short work of the pair, and they soon lie at our feet with empty pockets.

As we reach the Valtheim Towers, I worry about the bandit troupe, but they take no notice of us as we jog past. I let out a sigh of relief – as a wolf leaps out at Delphine. Obviously, the charm of the emblems doesn't extend to my companions. I don't have time to react though, as with one swipe, our guide chops the wolf's head almost off of its shoulders.

The next few miles of our journey is uneventful. As we pass the Mixwater Mill, or so the sign calls it, we come across a small convoy of three Imperial soldiers leading a prisoner. We dodge around them, but we haven't gone much further when a sabre cat leaps out at Delphine, who struggles about as much as she did with the wolf. I pause to pick up a tooth that was knocked loose, then dash to catch up.

Looks like it's going to be a late night tonight – the sun is already setting, and as we pass the snowline, the temperature drops rapidly. This doesn't stop the trio of wolves who attempt to make us their dinner – nor does it halt Delphine in her furious defence, and soon the foolish mammals are decorating the road with their blood and bodies.

A little further up the road, a waft of stale wine drifts across my face, preceding the angry, drunken Breton attacking us by several feet. This time, I save Lydia the trouble of finishing him off and hack his neck open with one swing of my orcish sword. He soon lies in the bushes with an empty bag at his side.

Crossing a bridge, I see a stables built at the foot of a long, bluestone bridge leading to the great gates of a large city. Checking my map, I realise we've reached Windhelm, so I mark the stables, then follow Delphine down the road leading south. It's full night now, and it's starting to get misty. We reach a branch in the road, with a signpost declaring Kynesgrove to be along the left path.

"Wait. Something's wrong." Delphine slows enough for me to hear what she's saying as a shadowed figure dashes towards us. It resolves into that of a woman wearing an apron – and a terrified look on her face.

"Iddra!" Cries Delphine.

"No, you don't want to go up there! A dragon – it's attacking!" Iddra cries, stopping in front of us.

"Where's this dragon?" I ask her.

"It flew over the town and landed on the old dragon burial mound. I don't know what it's doing up there, but I'm not waiting around to find out!" With that, she dashes past us down the road up toward Windhelm.

"Come on, hurry!" shouts Delphine as she hurries up the hill. "We might be too late!"

I follow, to find that Kynesgrove is no more than an inn, a field of crops and a mine dug into the rock further up the track. Past it, a roaring comes from somewhere ahead of us, and a black shape swoops overhead.

"Lorkhan's eyes!" mutters Delphine. "Look at that big bastard! Keep your head down, let's see what he does." I draw my bow and crouch behind a large rock at the top of the slope, with a good view of the burial mound – and the great black brute from Helgen circling above.

"Sahloknir!" It booms. "Ziil gro dovah ulse! Slen Tiid Vo!" Shouting toward the mound, the dragon hovers. With an almighty crash, the stone-encircled heap of dirt bursts open, and out crawls a skeletal dragon. As it reaches the unspoilt ground, a glowing fluttering surrounds it, and when the light dies down, the dragon is wearing a brand new moss-green skin.

"This is worse than I thought..." murmurs my secretive new friend.

"Alduin, thuri!" The creature, who I assume to be Sahloknir ,greets the beast above. "Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?" I feel as if I should understand what he says, but comprehension escapes me.

"Geh, Sahloknir, kaali mir." The black brute addressed as Alduin looks my way. Understanding that he knows I'm there, I straighten.

"Ful losei, Dovahkiin?" It says. "Zu'u koraav nid nol dov do hi?" then the beast chuckles. "You do not even know our tongue, do you? Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah! Sahloknir," he orders the newly-risen monster. "krii daar joorre." With that, and a furious flapping of his enormous pitch wings, the black dragon flies away.

With what can only be a cry of joy, Sahloknir leaps into the air, turns and attempts to roast us where we stand – only we aren't standing there anymore; we're several feet away sending arrows flying in his direction. Most go swooping past him, dashing off through the space he was occupying only moments before, but enough hit that he is sent crashing into the ground. Barely pausing, I lower my aim and constantly shoot at the evil beast. One in the eye. One just under his wing. And, finally, one in his throat. With a final roar, he crashes to the ground.

"I'll be damned, you did it!" Delphine approaches me, as I stand catching my breath and my senses. I'm not sure what it is or why, but battle sends me into such a blind rage. "Wait, something's happening...Gods above!" She steps back as Sahloknir burns and his soul flies brightly into me, bringing true understanding of the word I learnt at Ustengrav. The dragon's soul warms the recesses that the exertion of battle couldn't, and I even feel a little refreshed.

"So you really are..." Delphine gasps as the last dregs of the soul vanish. "I – it's true, isn't it? You really are Dragonborn." She steps closer. "I owe you some answers, don't I? Go ahead – whatever you want to know. Nothing held back."

"Who are you and what do you want with me?" I get straight to the point.

"I'm one of the last members of the Blades." Delphine begins. The Blades? I think I remember Mother saying something about a distant cousin of ours was a Blade, but she didn't explain much more than that. "A very long time ago, the Blades were dragon-slayers, and we served the Dragonborn, the greatest dragon-slayer. For the last two hundred years, since the last Dragonborn Emperor, the Blades have been searching for a purpose. Now that dragons are coming back, our purpose is clear again – we need to stop them."

"The Blades? Who are they?" She should be able to tell me.

"Exactly. No-one even remembers our name these days. We used to be known across Tamriel as the protectors of the Septim Emperors. Those days are long gone, though. For the last two hundred years we've been searching for the next Dragonborn to guide and guard, as we are sworn to do. But we never found one – until now." Wow. Does that mean I'm descended from Kings? Ha – unlikely, though that would be pretty great.

"What do you know about the dragons' coming back?" I change the subject.

"Not a damn thing. I was just as surprised as you to find that big black dragon here." Huh.

"I've seen that dragon before, the one that got away." I mention, sounding more offhanded than I intended to.

"Really? Where?"

"It was the one that attacked Helgen, when Ulfric escaped from the Imperials."

"Interesting... same dragon..." muses the Blade. "Dammit, we're blundering around in the dark here! We need to figure out who's behind it all!"

"What's our next move?" I ask her, curious.

"The first thing we need to do is figure out who's behind the dragons." Delphine says slowly, thinking. "The Thalmor are our best lead. If they aren't involved, they'll know who is."

Ok, time to find out who these oft-mentioned Thalmor are. "Remind me – who are the Thalmor?"

"The faction that rules the Aldmeri Dominion." What? If what little memories of my history lessons are right, the Aldmeri Dominion fell apart at the end of the Second Era. She must mean a revival. That can't be good. "The ones that almost destroyed the Empire during the Great War thirty years back. There's no worse enemy to human-kind in Tamriel. The Empire barely survived the last war – the Thalmor don't intend to lose the next one."

A new memory bursts into clarity – reading dishevelled copies of the Black Horse Courier in a run-down hut with several equally depressed fellows, with the bold headlines declaring the threat the Thalmor had sent to the Emperor, stories of the war and the fall of the White-Gold Tower. And the cries of despair among the small group of Nords in the hut when they read about a Concordat before they ran out of the hut in a berserk rage.

I push the memory back into the recesses of my mind, to be perused later when I have the time. "What makes you think the Thalmor are bringing dragons back?"

Delphine scowls. "Nothing solid, yet. But my gut tells me it can't be anybody else. The Empire had captured Ulfric. The war was basically over. Then, a dragon attacks, Ulfric escapes, and the war is back on. And now the dragons are attacking everywhere indiscriminately. Skyrim is weakened – the Empire is weakened. Who else gains from that but the Thalmor?"

"Why are the Thalmor after you?" I ask, hoping the question doesn't hurt too much, and remembering the article mentioning the severed heads included in the Thalmor's initial 'missive' made to the emperor.

"Before the Great War, the Blades helped the Empire against the Thalmor. Our Grand Master saw them as the greatest threat to Tamriel. At the time, that was true. Maybe it still is. So we fought them in the shadows, all across Tamriel. We thought we were more than a match for them. We were wrong."

"So we need to find out what the Thalmor know about the dragons." I think aloud. "Any ideas?"

"If we could get into the Thalmor Embassy...it's the centre of their operations in Skyrim... Problem is, that place is locked up tighter than a miser's purse. They could teach me a few things about paranoia..!"

"So...how do we get into the Thalmor Embassy?" I ask after a short while in which Delphine stood in silent contemplation.

"I'm not sure yet. I have a few ideas, but I'll need some time to pull things together. Meet me back in Riverwood. If I'm not back when you get there, wait for me. I shouldn't be long." She hands me a key marked 'DSR', the meaning of which is obvious. "Keep an eye on the sky. This is only going to get worse." With that last, she lights a torch and begins to jog down the hill.

I turn and, picking up a couple of Sahloknir's knucklebones as I pass, I rummage around the dirt of the burial mound to find a couple of gems and a rotting sack of coin. There are the bodies of the town guards lying nearby. They won't be needing their money any more either. Once their bags lie thoroughly rummaged, I head back down the track and along the road to Windhelm, passing the returning Iddra.

As the great gates of the ancient city close behind me, I overhear a confrontation nearby.

"You come here where you're not wanted, you eat our food, you pollute our city with your stink and you refuse to help the Stormcloaks!" Shouts one of the pair of Nords at the unlucky Dunmer woman. I'd better keep my head down while I'm here then.

"But we haven't taken a side because it's not our fight!" The elf defends herself.

"Hey," says the other Nord, a beggar, by the looks of him. "Maybe the reason these grey-skins don't help in the war is because they're Imperial spies!"

"Imperial spies?" splutters their unfortunate victim. "You can't be serious!"

"Maybe we'll pay you a visit tonight, little spy. We got our ways of finding out what you really are." The pair wander off, patting each other on the back. Fetchers.

The woman sighs as I approach.

"Looked like those Nords were giving you trouble." I say conversationally, unused to this consolation business. I don't remember my companions in the hut ever needing it.

"Nothing new there." Responds the Dunmer. "Most of the Nords living in Windhelm don't care much for us, but Rolff is the worst by far. He likes to get drunk and walk around the Grey Quarter yelling insults at us in the small hours of the morning. Ha – a real charmer, that one." I'm assuming she means the better-fed one.

"Why would anyone think you're a spy?"

"Some of these Nords will come up with any excuse to despise us. And it isn't just the Dark Elves they hate – they make a target of the Argonians as well. In fact, just about anyone who isn't a Nord is fair game for their bullying." She nods to me, then wanders off.

The nearest building is an inn, a warm looking place with an old wooden sign swinging outside naming the place 'Candlehearth Hall'. Inside, a set of stairs lead up to a common room, and a corridor next to the bar is lined with several doors. I approach the sour-looking innkeeper.

"Look out, Elda." Mutters one of the patrons sat at a stool at the bar. The innkeeper turns.

"Another Dark Elf. Just what Windhelm needs." Sarcastic bitch.

"I'd like to rent a room." I hand over the ten gold pieces, hoping she doesn't ask for more because of my race, or even just plain kick me out.

"Sure thing. It's yours for a day. First on the left." She doesn't offer to show me my room like the other places I've stayed at. Oh well – it's not like it's too hard to find anyway.

I'm already unbuckling my armour as Lydia pushes the door closed behind us, and I'm soon snuggled up in the warm furs. Midnight is a very late night for me!


	8. Making Plans

The next morning, there is a commotion going on outside, which I discover to be caused by a vampire of all things that has managed to sneak past the guards and is attacking the citizens. I announce my arrival at the scene with an arrow in the undead's back, then I switch to my sword and join the fray. With the combined efforts of the townsfolk, Lydia and myself the vampire soon is dead, its belongings free for the taking – which I quickly take advantage of.

I leave the city and cross the long bridge over the frozen river. The sun is steadily rising as I make my way along the road, where I encounter a trio of Redguards. The two men, dressed in the same manner as the warriors from Whiterun, seem to be confronting the woman about something, so I slow to listen in.

"I don't know who you think I am, and I don't care. Leave me alone!" The woman is saying.

"I don't have time for this foolishness. Now come along quietly and we won't have to get rough." One of the men threatens.

"Brother, I think she is telling the truth." His companion murmurs.

"I'm not going anywhere. Now back off, before I do something drastic."

"She doesn't have the scar." The second man has finally got his fellow's attention.

"What? Oh – you're right...We've made a mistake." The first warrior admits. "Now move along, before that mouth of yours gets you into trouble." With that, the two armed men leave.

"Next time you're looking to pester someone, make sure it's the right person!" The female cries after them, then walks past me, sulking.

I continue along the road until it turns too far to the east, then take a rough path up a hill through the wilderness. I haven't gone far when a Dark Elf wearing the same armour as the assassin leaps at me, managing to slice my cheek open before I can react. Lydia is faster than I am, sending an arrow into his thigh as I draw my sword and slash at his torso, barely missing as he leaps back, closer to the precipitous drop that lines one side of the path.

Here, let me help you catch your balance! My sword thrusts deep up through his stomach and out between his shoulder-blades. Dragging him away from the edge, I throw his remains to the ground, and rummage through his pockets, finding a similar jumble of items as those I found in his comrade, including the same note. Who the hells wants me dead so badly?

Continuing along the path, I emerge from the trees on the other side of the river from the track I took before the first time I journeyed up to High Hrothgar. I remember that I didn't mark the village at the base of the mountain on my map, so racking my brain I recall the name of the little hamlet and jot the name down over the faded text on the parchment. Ivarstead.

The trek up the seven thousand steps is quiet – nothing jumps out at me, and I ignore the emblems; I already know what they say. Soon, I reach the frozen doors of High Hrothgar and I push them open, slip inside and discover Arngeir meditating next to a brazier. I clear my throat.

"Ah – you've retrieved the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller." He says as I hand over the ancient ivory. "Well done. You have now passed all the trials. Come with me. It is time for us to recognise you formally as Dragonborn." I follow the Greybeard into the open space that makes up the main part of the entrance hall. "You are ready to learn the final Word of Unrelenting Force, 'Dah', which means 'push'." He says as the others join us. One steps forward and mutters the Word, etching it into the stonework. Obviously this is a temporary effect, because their previous teaching has faded.

I step forward, allowing the Word to seep into my being.

"With all three Words together," Arngeir explains in the meantime, "this Shout is much more powerful. Use it wisely. Master Wulfgar will now gift you with his knowledge of 'Dah'."

With a bow, the usual glow emanates from the cowled figure, and the true meaning of the Word enters my mind. Then, the Greybeards spread out in a circle around me, and Arngeir gestures to Lydia to step back.

"You have completed your training, Dragonborn. We will Speak to you." Uh oh. What does Arngeir mean? I thought it was too dangerous for them to speak above a whisper? "Stand between us and prepare yourself. Few can withstand the unbridled Voice of the Greybeards; but you are ready." Well, that's reassuring.

"Lingrah krosis saraan Strundu'ul voth nid balaan klov praan nau." The Greybeards say in unison, causing the ground to quake and the walls to shudder, knocking me off balance. "Naal Thu'umu, mu ofan nii nu, Dovahkiin, naal suleyk do Kaan, naal suleyk do Shor, ahrk naal suleyk do Atmorasewuth. Meyz nu Ysmir, Dovahsebrom, Dahmaan daar rok." The Greybeards finish their chant, bow, and all but Arngeir disperse. The rumbling dies down, and I look around worriedly. I don't think the walls could withstand that much longer!

"Dovahkiin. You have tasted the Voice of the Greybeards, and passed through unscathed. High Hrothgar is open to you." With that, Arngeir bows again and leaves.

Steadying myself, I lead Lydia back out into the cold wind and back down the mountain. At the bottom, I return along the path I took before until I reach an open area with a very narrow track along it, obviously frequented more by the four-legged inhabitants of the land. Curious, I follow this little path up and over the mountain ridge and down to where it met the road opposite the track up to the Ritual Stone. Well, that's a handy little shortcut – I'll have to remember where it comes out; cut quite a bit of journey time off the next time I must come this way. I say that, because it's obvious I haven't quite seen the last of the Greybeards yet.

Not far down the road, we are attacked by another drunk, this time a Nord woman, who is wearing better boots that I am currently, so when she lies defeated at our feet, I swap them over, only feeling the slightest twinge of guilt. Why do people get so violent when they get drunk in Skyrim?

Past the bridges, up the slope – and yet another assassin appears nearby. He hasn't spotted up yet though, and he isn't hiding very well. All these hired killers are starting to piss me off, so I sneak-attack him with an arrow that flies straight into his side. With a cry, he draws his daggers and charges, but I shoot again and kill him. Closing the distance, I find it was another Dark Elf; his pockets contain the knick-knacks I've come to expect these leather-clad murderers to carry. And, of course, the expected note. I have three of these now in my bag. Let's see how many I can collect before they give up, shall we?

Riverwood is exactly the same as it was when I left. I bypass the inn to go to the Trader first to offload all the stuff I have collected since the last store I was in, using the money gained to purchase some potions, lockpicks and lunch, which I pause to eat between the shop and the Sleeping Giant. While I munch on the loaf of bread I had bought, I count my cash, and find I've made a pretty little profit since I first escaped Helgen. Finishing off the last of the wine, I duck into the inn – to find Delphine waiting next to the door.

"I don't think you were followed. Come on – I have a plan." She leads us down into the secret basement. "I've figured out how we're going to get you into the Thalmor Embassy."

"That didn't take long." I point out.

"I've been doing this a long time, remember? While the Thalmor've been looking for me, I've been watching them."

"So what's your plan? How do I infiltrate the Thalmor Embassy?"

"The Thalmor ambassador, Elenwen, regularly throws parties where the rich and connected cosy up to the Thalmor. I can get you into one of those parties. Once you're inside the embassy, you get away and find Elenwen's secret files. I have a contact inside the embassy. He's not up for this kind of high-risk mission, but he can help you. His name's Malborn; Wood Elf, plenty of reason to hate the Thalmor. You can trust him. I'll get word for him to meet you in Solitude at the Winking Skeever – you know it?" No. "While you're doing that, I'll work on getting you an invitation to Elenwen's little party. Meet me at the Solitude Stables after you've arranged things with Malborn. Any questions?"

Not really. The Winking Skeever shouldn't be too difficult to find. "I'll see you in Solitude after I meet Malborn."

"Sounds good. Be careful." Delphine turns and ascends the stairs. Following, I leave the inn and head back down the road towards Whiterun. A short way down, an elf clad in light armour and a cowl confronts us.

"Alright – hand over your valuables, or I'll gut you like a fish."

"I don't have time for this..." I mutter, but the thief hears me.

"Don't you walk away from me!" He slashes at me with his daggers, so I draw my sword and defend myself. I cut through his armour almost like it is butter – it obviously isn't very well kept – and he falls to my feet, gurgling his final breath. I loot his proceeds from previous successful robberies, then continue along the road.

As I jog, I look to the sun to judge how much time is left before nightfall, then check my map. I'm not going to make Rorikstead before dark, so I instead turn up the road and pass through the wooden gates into Whiterun. Jogging up the road towards the inn, I recall hearing somewhere that innkeepers will pay adventurers well for firewood, so I take advantage of the uncut logs lying outside the back door of the Bannered Mare and begin chopping them in two with the axe I picked up my first time in Riverwood. I cut as much as I can carry, then haul them into the inn, where Hulda smiles gratefully as she hands over a fair-sized purse.

I'm exhausted now, and the sun has finally set, so renting the room, I trudge up the stairs, undress and fall onto the bed, asleep before I have even landed.


	9. It's Party Time!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of what Alduin says to Vuljotnaak: 'Burn this world for your master.' Source: uesp.net/wiki/Lore:Dragon_Language

The sky is cast orange from the fires of the burning city beneath me. The people are screaming, and even the guards have given up the fight, fleeing alongside them. But I'm not done with them yet. Swooping down on my blood-red wings, I scoop up several of the children in my sharp teeth and break them all in half with one snap. As their bodies fall to the feet of their wailing parents, I give a roar of ecstasy – and land on the floor with a thump.

I've never had a dream quite as clear as that one before. I can still see the panicked look on the people's faces. Lydia is looking at me worriedly, so I force a smile and climb to my feet. Buckling on my armour, I climb down the stairs and wave at Hulda as I pass. Nothing to worry about!

Today is going to be a long day. It's going to take at least until noon to get to Solitude, but at least I have an early start. Jogging down the road and through the gate, I check my supplies – all good, and if I do run low I can pick up more at Rorikstead.

Things have soon gone back to normal at the Western Watchtower. The guards glance my way as I pass, then continue their patrol. Dodging a trio of Imperial soldiers, I stay on the left-hand side of the road as we pass an old fort built where the road twists south, with a northern road joining it. I ignore the north route – my map says that the road ends before it reaches the mountains. A little further on, an Orc is hanging around the corpses of two sabre cats. Yet another 'old' warrior wanting a good death, I suppose. I don't have the time, however, so pretending not to have seen him, I continue down the cobblestone road – and hear a distant roar. Damn, another dragon?

As I get closer to the source of the sound, I spot a familiar-looking shape hovering over an area just to the right of the road. Heading closer, the shadowed flyer resolves into that of the great black brute from Helgen – the one Sahloknir addressed as Alduin. Ducking behind a rock, I observe as the beast Shouts at the nearby dragon burial. This is just a repeat of Kynesgrove!

The mound explodes open; the skeleton climbs out, and praises Alduin, as Sahloknir had.

"Vuljotnaak, ag daar lein fah him in." With that order, the black dragon flies away, as Lydia and I draw our bows, readying for a fight with this Vuljotnaak. I leave the cover of the rock as the risen monster takes to the skies, and launch an arrow at him. It narrowly misses his flank, and the dragon follows its path to where we stand.

Swooping down, he sends a ball of frost flying towards us, which I almost dodge, then I Shout back.

"Fus Ro Dah!" I cry. Vuljotnaak flinches, and he lands behind us. I quickly swap my bow for a warhammer I'd picked up a while back. After a couple of whacks straight to the face, the angry beast takes to the sky again, only to twist painfully as Lydia's arrow tears through one of his great bat-like wings, and he comes crashing back to the earth, headed straight for me. I leap into the air and bring my hammer smashing right into his scaly snout and Vuljotnaak breathes his last as he skids to a halt.

As I tuck the loot from the dragon, and my warhammer back into my satchel, which I have nicknamed my 'bag of holding', the soul of the great beast comes rushing towards me, filling me with warmth, but this time it's different. There is only the promise of knowledge this time; if only I knew how to unlock it. Strange.

Re-joining the road, I continue on, past a wandering bard and, further on, a nobleman on a horse, reaching Rorikstead around mid-morning. I'm making good time, and I haven't used any of my supplies, so I jog straight past the inn and out the northern side of the town. Soon, we reach the top of a steep slope, down into a deep valley between the mountains of the Reach, the range that is the northern border of Whiterun hold and the craggy slopes of Haafingar, wherein lies my goal.

I take the slope slowly, not wanting to lose my footing and fall the long way to the bottom. Reaching a crossroads, we find a dead man lying next to a handcart with a chest in it. No sooner has this sight filled our eyes than a yell comes from the rocks behind us, and a small group of bandits emerge. An ambush!

Dragging my sword out of its scabbard at my waist, my counter-attack kills the first in one blow. Unfortunately, this has given time for one of his stronger comrades to dodge around behind me, where he raises his warhammer and prepares to deal a deadly blow. Ducking, the weapon merely makes a slight dent in my helmet, and I slash quickly at the man's legs, hamstringing him as he turns to perform a whirling attack on Lydia behind me. He falls with a yell, and I finish him off with a swift stab in the heart.

I stand up to find Lydia has already killed one of the archers, and is looking for the second, who I find cowering behind the rock they had sprung from. I am about to let him go when with a panicked cry, he lashes out at me with his little dagger. I slash my blade across to deflect his blow, but instead I decapitate him. Whoops.

Turns out that the other archer is wearing a pair of enchanted gauntlets. They aren't as good as mine, but I swap them out anyway, then, after looting the chest, I continue down the hill, stopping at the bridge that crosses the river at the bottom.

Ahead, there is a wooden bridge crossing the road, manned at either foot by a bandit archer. Crouching behind the wall of the bridge, I carefully calculate where I should aim, then loose my arrow, sending it driving into the chest of the bandit on the left hand side. The one on the right panicked, drawing his bow, but he is soon felled by my second shot. Over the bridge, I find the entrance to their camp – so I decide to rid Skyrim of this particular menace, at least until more move in. Sneaking up the short slope, I shoot at the man guarding the entrance – and miss. Damn! Drawing his great-sword, he starts down the slope towards us. My next arrow slams into his chest, causing him to stagger, and Lydia finishes him off swiftly.

Inside the palisade gate, there are a couple of bedrolls, sheltered from the elements with peaked covers. In one, a bandit wakes, and starts climbing to her feet, halted in her endeavour by the arrow I send flying into her thigh. The rest of the camp is fairly quiet – the only remaining enemy the bandit chief hiding in the wooden hut that occupies the higher ground. Lydia and I make short work of him though, and I find what I assume to be the key to the trapdoor in the corner on a nearby dresser.

Through the trapdoor, we find a cave, mostly filled with water; the small area above the water level houses an empty chest and a table covered with everyday junk and a journal, describing the bandit chief's thoughts over the past few days. The last entry is the most interesting.

28th First Seed, 4E 201. Brodir's getting suspicious – I caught him poking around in the cove this afternoon. I don't think he found my stash, but it's not safe here. I took the boat out tonight and stowed it on the island to the south, by the old tree stump. Had a good haul this week. Another caravan or two and I can finally get out of here, and not a moment too soon. Deciding to follow the directions in the journal, I jump into the water and swim out the crack through which the water is entering the cave.

I can see the island where I paddle, so, fighting the strong current, I swim over and haul myself onto the dirt. The chest is half buried next to a rotten tree stump; after unlocking it with the same key as I used on the trapdoor, I find the contents aren't that much of a treasure – about one hundred gold pieces, a couple of potions and a war-axe. Huh.

There is a shallow part of the river spanning from the island to the riverbank, so I use that to get back to the road and continue along. I rummage through the stuff I looted from the bandit camp, digging out the two spell books I found. 'Frostbite' and 'Fury'. After reading them, learning the spells, I pull out some bread and cheese and an apple which I munch on as we walk.

A little further on down the road, just before reaching a bridge across a river, we find a cart surrounded by the corpses of its owners, accompanied by the body of the horse and several strange arrows. There isn't much left intact, except for a satchel containing a book, some jewellery and a potion, and a journal on the body of the woman.

I begged my husband not to go, but he just wouldn't listen. He said if he delayed the shipment even another week, the Legion would find someone else to take it south. Let them keep their blasted money. The road to Whiterun is dangerous these days, everyone knows it. So many caravans have been attacked; so many travellers vanished into thin air. Some say it's only bandits, but there are rumours of worse. Goblins. Ghosts. Witches. Twenty years we've been married now, and I can't bear the thought of losing him. I'm not letting him go alone, not this time. We live or die together. Mara preserve us.

I hope one day to find someone who feels the same about me.

Across the bridge, I can see the road leads to another bridge across a deep ravine. But this bridge is different – older. It is made of dark grey stone, and it is huge; the middle is decorated with great carved dragon's heads. Across this bridge is the town it names – Dragon Bridge. It's not quite midday when, just before we pass the inn, I'm hailed by a courier.

"I've been looking for you." He says. "Got something I'm supposed to deliver – your hands only. Let's see here... ah! A letter from a Jarl. Moving up in the world, eh? Looks like that's it." He hands over the small slip of paper. "Got to go." Walking slowly along, I prise open the wax seal and read the note.

Lethandhrel One-Eye, it begins. As a mark of the high esteem in which you are held by me and my people, I would like to offer you an opportunity to become a landowner in Falkreath Hold. A choice piece of undeveloped land in the hold has just become available. Please contact me if you are interested in purchasing it. I remain, Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath. Well, that is a surprise! I've never been to Falkreath, but obviously my fame as Dragonborn has spread. I tuck the note into my bag and return to the steady, ground-eating jog I have been using.

A little further along, we meet a black-robed Dunmer striding purposefully. I greet him, curious as to what would bring him to this part of the world.

"I'm on a pilgrimage to the Shrine of Azura, the goddess of twilight. If you will excuse me." He moves to continue his journey, but I stop him again.

"Where is this Shrine?" I ask.

"In the mountains to the north-east. I'll mark it on your map." After doing so, he leaves. Looking at my map, I notice he is very much on the wrong path – the Shrine is closer to Winterhold than it is to Solitude. Oh well, no matter.

Soon, we reach the foot of the hill that leads to the great gates of Solitude. Passing through, I encounter a crowd gathered around a trio of people standing on a raised platform. This doesn't bode well.

"They can't hurt Uncle Roggvir! Tell them he didn't do it!" Cries a small voice. Looking over, I spot a small girl tugging on a burly man's sleeve.

"Positions." Orders the guardsman on the platform.

"Svari, you need to go home. Go home and stay there until your mother comes." The man tells the child, who then runs off deeper into the city.

"You should tell her that her uncle is scum that betrayed his High King." Says a woman scornfully as she joins the heckling townsfolk. "Best she know now, Addvar."

"You're all heart, Vivienne." Replies the man sarcastically.

"Roggvir." The soldier on the platform says to the ragged man next to him. I think I see where this is going. "You helped Ulfric Stormcloak escape this city after he murdered High King Torygg. By opening that gate for Ulfric, you betrayed the people of Solitude."

As the bound man – Roggvir – steps closer to the block at his feet, the crowd heckles louder, the general consensus being that he should not be allowed to speak.

"There was no murder!" He shouts over their cries. "Ulfric challenged Torygg – he beat the High King in fair combat! Such is our way. Such is the ancient custom of Skyrim, and all Nords!"

The crowd boos his speech as the guard pushes him onto the block. Then, they fall silent as the headsman raises his axe.

"On this day, I go to Solitude." I hear Roggvir mutter, then with a sickening crunch, his head rolls into the basket and his body slumps sideways to the floor.

"Some gate guard you were!" Yells one of the people as she walks away.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say." Says the one addressed as Vivienne, also leaving.

"I think I expected more." Murmurs another. The crowd is dispersing, returning to daily life. Soon, the only ones left are a woman and a beggar.

"It shouldn't have been like this!" She sobs. Must have been a relative of his.

I turn away, and head toward one of the shops that line the entrance square. 'Bits and Pieces'.

Inside, it is a rather small place, the main room at the end of a short corridor. The proprietor is a kind-looking Redguard woman, who weighs up the items I have to sell, then gives me a good amount of gold for it.

I then go to the inn, the 'Winking Skeever', and find a Bosmer sat in a dark corner. That must be Malborn. I turn and talk to Lydia.

"Time for us to split up for the time being." I say. It sounds like I'm breaking up with a lover!

"Sure thing. I'll be back home if you need me." She turns and leaves. I sit down at the table opposite Malborn.

"Our mutual friend sent me." I mutter.

"Really? You're who she picked?" What's that supposed to mean? "I hope she knows what she's doing. Here's the deal – I can smuggle some equipment into the Embassy for you. Don't plan on bringing anything else in with you. The Thalmor take security very seriously. Give me what you can't live without and I'll make sure to get it into the Embassy. The rest is up to you."

"I'm ready." I respond. "Here's what I'll need." I hand him a dagger, some healing potions and my lockpicks.

"Ok, I'll get this inside the Embassy for you." Malborn stands, looking around at the other patrons, who are all ignoring us. "I've got to go – I'll find you at the party, don't worry." With that, he hurries out the door.

I'm not entirely sure I am ready for this, actually. I haven't much experience in playing spies. What if they see right through my act? There's not much time for sitting and worrying, however. Malborn should have enough of a head start. Time to find Delphine.

Out the door, and through the gate, down to the stables, which are just around a corner at the bottom of the slope. It seems to be coupled with a small farm – as well as the two horses, which gaze at me with their beautiful chocolate eyes, there are a couple of rows of leeks pushing their way through the dirt. Delphine sits in the shadow of a windmill, next to a carriage pulled by a sturdy bay.

"Have you given Malborn the gear you want to smuggle into the Embassy?" She asks as I approach.

"Yes – Malborn's all set." I answer.

"Good. I have your invitation to the party. But the only way you're going to get past the guards is if they really believe you are an invited guest; which means you need to look the part, and not be armed to the teeth. Here – put this on. When you're ready, I'll keep the rest of your gear safe until you get back." I assume Delphine means back to the Sleeping Giant. "You'll only have what Malborn smuggled in for you, plus whatever you can pick up inside."

I enter the shadowed interior of the windmill to change into the thick clothes she handed me – I don't really enjoy the ogling eyes of the carriage driver, or the cold wind. Soon, all my armour and weaponry is tucked into my satchel, which I have swapped for the one that Delphine gave me with the clothes. I feel naked without my armour on. It is a strange feeling.

Stepping out, Delphine glances at me, assessing how well I scrub up. "Hmm. I guess that will have to do. You should pass for a real guest, at least until you open your mouth. Ready to board the carriage to the Embassy?"

I suppose. "I'm ready. Keep the rest of my things safe for me."

"Don't worry; it will all be waiting for you when you get back. Just make sure you get back out of there alive with the information we need. Good luck." With that, she takes my bag and heads off up the road.

Taking a deep breath, I climb into the waiting carriage, and the driver clicks to the horse. With a whicker, it heaves, and the cart begins to move. While the driver navigates the tight turn onto the road, I open the invitation and have a look.

Elenwen, First Emissary of the Aldmeri Dominion to the Kingdom of Skyrim Requests the Pleasure of the Company of Lethandhrel One-Eye at a Reception on 26th Last Seed 4E 201 at the Ambassador's Residence. Regrets Only. Formal Attire Requested. Very formal – I can tell from all the un-necessary capitalisations! How fortunate, though, that this party should fall on the very next day that is was decided to get me in – how fast are the couriers in this country?

I take the chance to doze – it may be cold, but I am more tired! I'm woken by the clatter of gates closing behind us, and I sit up to realise that we have reached our destination – the Thalmor Embassy. The sun is setting, casting the snowy exterior in a warm orange light. The building is in the style of Solitude, the roof tall and peaked, the walls made of rough grey stone.

"Ah, a fellow latecomer to Elenwen's little soirée!" Calls a voice as I jump down from the carriage. I turn and find it belongs to a tired-looking Redguard. "And arriving by carriage, no less! I salute you, my good lady. My lateness is due more to getting lost on the way up this gods-forsaken mountain than to any desire to actually arrive late. I prefer to arrive early, often the day before the party, so as not to miss out on any of the drinking." That explains the bloodshot cast to his eyes then. I approach the guard at the foot of the few steps up to the door.

"Welcome to the Thalmor Embassy." The Altmer says. "Your invitation, please."

"Here you go." I show her the slip of paper, fumbling a little with the ribbon tying it shut.

"Thank-you ma'am. Go right in." Returning the invitation, she gestures towards the blue-painted door. As I climb the steps, I can hear the drunkard approaching the elf behind me.

"Now then. Here's my invitation. I don't have a poisoned dagger strapped to my thigh, et cetera, et cetera."

"I'm just doing my duty, sir." The guard sighs. "Everything's in order. Welcome back, sir."

"Yes, yes. Now to find myself a drink!" Anything else the man says is cut off by the door clicking shut behind me.

Inside, the room is filled with flute music and quiet chatter. Before I have got very far into the room, I am approached by a tall robed woman, with yellowish skin and dark blush smeared across her cheeks.

"Welcome." She says, in the tone typical of High Elves. "I don't believe we've met. I am Elenwen, the Thalmor Ambassador to Skyrim. And, you are..?"

"My name is Lethandhrel One-Eye." Shouldn't hurt to tell them my real name. "Pleased to meet you."

"Ah, yes. I remember your name from the guest list. Please, tell me more about yourself. What brings you to this – to Skyrim?" Before I can answer, Malborn calls out from behind a counter.

"Madame Ambassador, I'm so sorry to interrupt..."

"What is it, Malborn?" Snaps the Altmer.

"It's just that we've run out of the Alto Wine." He explains. "Do I have your permission to uncork the Arenthia Red?"

"Of course. I've told you before not to bother me with such trifles."

"Yes, Madame Ambassador." Malborn glances at me.

"My apologies." Says Elenwen. "We'll have to get better acquainted later. Please, enjoy yourself."

When she has walked off to join a conversation elsewhere, I approach Malborn's counter.

"What can I get for you?" He asks, then lowers his voice. "You made it in, good. As soon as you distract the guards, I'll open this door and we can get you on your way. Let's hope we both live through this day."

I nod, then turn to survey the rest of the party. Spotting the drunkard Redguard from earlier, I sidle over.

"What does a fellow need to do to get a drink around here?" He mutters grumpily, then looks up when my shadow falls on his face. "Ah, pardon me, friend. I didn't see you standing there. Allow me to introduce myself – Razelan. Imports and exports by trade, observer of human nature by avocation." He half bows from where he sits.

"You look thirsty." I observe.

"My friend, you are very perceptive!" I'm unsure whether he's being serious or not. "I have a powerful thirst that cannot be slaked! And none of the waiters will bring me a drink! Elenwen must have told them to cut me off, the frigid bitch." Luckily, no-one is listening. "Afraid I'll cause another scene, I suppose." With that, he seemingly dismisses me and my lack of drinks.

I walk up to a waitress standing in a corner, another Bosmer roped into working here.

"I hope you're enjoying yourself, ma'am." She says when she sees me.

"I'd like a drink." I ask.

"Here you go, miss. Colovian Brandy." Wow – that's some strong stuff! I take the bottle, smile my thanks and head back over to Razelan.

"Here – I brought you a drink." I proffer the green bottle, which is eagerly taken.

"Ah, the one generous soul amongst a gathering of pinch-pennies and lick-spittles!" What an odd choice of slurs! He downs the alcohol in one gulp – an impressive feat, considering the size of the bottle. "If there's anything I can ever do for you," the drunkard continues. "do not hesitate to call upon me!" This gives me an idea.

"Actually, there is something you can do for me."

"Wonderful!" He cries. "I can begin to repay your generosity immediately! Say on, friend!"

"I need you to cause a scene; get everyone's attention for a few minutes."

He doesn't ask why. "Is that all? My friend, you've come to the right person! You could say that causing a scene is somewhat of a specialty of mine. Stand back and behold my handiwork!" He pushes himself up off of the bench, staggers a little, and makes his way into the centre of the room. I slip around Malborn's counter while Razelan begins a tirade against Elenwen. I don't want to be there when he sobers up!

"Let's go, let's go! Before anyone notices us!" He murmurs as he unlocks the door behind the counter. We slip through while everyone – even the guards – are watching Razelan's slurred speech. Malborn locks the door behind us and sighs tensely.

"So far so good." He says. "Let's hope nobody saw us slip out. We need to pass through the kitchen. Your gear is hidden in the larder. Just stay close and let me do any talking, got it? Follow me." With that, he pushes open the other door and begins walking through, with me close on his heels.

"Who comes, Malborn?" Growls a Khajiit over the other end of the warm room. "You know I don't like strange smells in my kitchen."

"A guest, feeling ill. Leave the poor wretch be." Malborn replies as he reaches a door behind one of the food-covered tables.

"A guest, in the kitchen? You know this is against the rules." The cat complains.

"Rules, is it, Tsavani? I didn't realise that eating Moon Sugar was permitted. Perhaps I should ask the Ambassador -"

Tsavani hisses. "Get out of here! I saw nothing." She returns to skinning one of the many potatoes at her bare hind paws.

I follow Malborn into the larder.

"Your gear is in that chest. I'll lock the door behind you. Don't screw this up!" I head over to the chest and extract my smuggled gear. "Hurry it up!" Malborn chivvies. "I've got to get back before I'm missed." I give him what I hope to be a withering glare, then dodge through the door at the back of the small room into a short corridor.

"Good luck." Malborn mutters over the click of him locking the door. "You're on your own now."

I approach an open door leading into a room on the left of the corridor – and duck quickly out of sight when I almost run straight into two elven guards.

"Did you see those Robes march in this morning?" One is saying. "Who're they with? More of the Emissary's treaty enforcers?"

"No, they're High Mages, just in from Alinor." Replies his companion. They both sound much the same as each other. "I guess Herself is finally getting worried about all the dragon attacks." This doesn't bode well for Delphine's 'Thalmor Dragons' theory.

"Ah, good. I've been wondering how we were supposed to defend this place from a dragon."

"If a dragon does show up, maybe we'll get lucky and it will eat the mages first." I'm starting to lose track of who is talking; both of the guards sound the same! "Might give us enough time to kill it!"

"Ha! I'd like to see those arrogant bastards taken down a notch. Always looking down their noses at us lowly footsloggers." This makes both of the guards laugh.

"Well, we'd better get back to our rounds." To give them enough time to move away from the door, I enter the room off the right of the corridor. Inside, there are some unused Thalmor robes and some sacks of food. I decide I'm going to empty this place of all valuable objects – including food!

Back in the corridor, I pick up the potion sat on a table under a window at the end, then loot the cupboards of gold. Now for the dangerous bit. I sneak into the main room, taking the bread and the cheese off of the counter the guards were leaning on to talk, then run right into one of them. How smart of me!

He twists around, then yells for his companion as he draws his weapon and slashes at my head. Straightening, I draw the dagger – how I wish I'd chosen my sword instead! – and counter-attack as best I can. I think I'm winning – but then I'm hit by lightning! A mage! He must have been upstairs and come down to investigate the racket.

The first guard finally falls dead at my feet, so quickly chugging a healing potion, I turn and attack the mage. He casts a ward to protect himself, but since wards only protect against magic it doesn't work against my little blade. I'm still taking quite a bit of damage though, from his efforts and the other guard's attacks, so I'm lashing out with my dagger in one hand, downing potions with the other. I am queen of multi-tasking!

After what feels like a year, I'm the only one left standing. I am amazed that no-one at the party in the next room has even noticed the noise we must have been making – there is only one locked door between this room and the main room. Right – this place is going to look unused by the time I'm finished here!

I clear the downstairs areas of all gold and other sellables, then move on upstairs and do the same with the rooms there. Then, bracing myself, I push open a door and step outside.

The sun has completely set now, the stars shining brightly on the walkway I am standing on that forms the wall of a courtyard between the main Embassy building and a separate office. I can see several Thalmor guards, including a couple of mages, from where I crouch at a corner. I'm not going to make it into the other building without being seen; so, switching to the steel war-axe I picked up from one of the guards inside, I straighten and charge straight at the nearest guard, taking him by surprise.

I manage to kill him in just a couple of swings, but only because he didn't have time to defend himself, and not before he has time to alert the others. They swarm at me, so I make sure my potions are close at hand and charge into the fray. Oh, if only Lydia could've come with me.

One down, three more to go. I focus on the mages first – they seem to be the stronger of the Thalmor causing me trouble out here in the cold. There goes another. As I fight, I'm chucking potions down my throat like I've never tasted anything better than the bitter liquid. One left. I hate all this killing, yet I enjoy it too - the red haze that falls every time danger threatens my life; fighting back is almost instinctual. I swing a couple of times before I realise there's nothing left alive. Rummaging through their pockets, I take all the gold and potions I find, then head towards the building opposite me.

Inside, it is reasonably warm, and the one solitary guard that I can see hasn't spotted me yet. As the armoured figure heads up the stairs opposite me, I hear voices coming from a room somewhere to the left.

"But I need that money! I earned it!" complains one. "I have my own expenses you know."

"Silence!" cries the unmistakable tones of another Altmer. "Do not presume, Gissur. You are most useful, but do not presume. We have other informants who are less...offensive."

"But no-one else has brought you such valuable information, have they?" The weak-sounding man replies. "Etienne, he's talked, hasn't he? He knows where that old man is you're looking for, he told me himself."

"You'll get the rest of your money when we confirm his story. As agreed." Reminds the elf.

"So he has talked. I knew it!"

"Everyone talks in the end. Now, I have work to do. Leave me to it, if you ever want to see the rest of your payment." The Thalmor dismisses him.

"Can I... I could help you. He'll talk to me. He trusts me."

"You'd like to come downstairs with me, is that it, Gissur? Shall we loose his bonds and put you in a cell together? You can ask him anything you like, and see how he answers."

"No, no; I'll – I'll wait outside." Gissur, cowed, responds.

"That would probably be best. Now get out!"

"They're scared of the dragons too, aren't they?" Mutters the spy as he comes closer to the door. Time to move! "Paying too well. They don't know anything."

I don't seem to be very good at this sneaking around thing yet – as I move behind a pillar, Gissur spots me, and raising the expected hue-and-cry, draws the axe at his belt and takes a swing at my head. He has misjudged the distance, however; the blade of his weapon barely misses scratching my nose.

I straighten to fight back, staying behind the pillar to dodge the Thalmor's lightning attacks. Gissur's unarmoured body falls to my feet just as the guard finally reaches the bottom of the stairs and crosses the short distance to where I stand. Spinning, I kick her in the stomach before lashing out with my own formidable axe, smashing a great dent in the elven-made helmet she wears. She falls to the ground, groaning, and I put her out of her misery with a quick slash across her throat. Now for the mage.

He is weaving in and out of view through the doorway, casting when he thinks he can, and missing most of the time as he doesn't take the time to aim. Soon, though, he's within range of my weapon arm, and I manage to almost sever his hand. Clutching his wrist, he screams; I finish him off as quickly as I can. I may hate all this killing, but no-one should die in slow agony.

I decide to clear out the upstairs before doing the same with the rooms down here. There isn't much to find; after taking all the books off of the bookshelves – I can sell them, or read them while waiting, if I have to – and taking all the gold, potions and ingredients I find, the building is clean. In a chest behind a desk, however, I find some very interesting documents. Very interesting indeed – especially to Delphine! I read through them so I don't find myself left in the dark.

I look through the little note first. First Emissary Elenwen, it begins. We anticipate a breakthrough in our efforts to uncover the party or power behind the dragon resurrection phenomenon. An informant has identified a possible lead, whom we have brought back to the Embassy for a full interrogation. The subject is obstinate, but by all indications is holding back the information we seek. I have authorised Intermediate Manual Uncoiling – I don't think I want to know what that means – I do not expect more will be necessary, unless you feel time presses. I know you prefer to be present for the final questioning; I will inform you immediately when the subject is fully receptive. Two days should tell the tale. In the meantime, if you wish to audit our technique, your expertise is welcome, as always. I have placed the prisoner in the cell closest to your office stairs, for your convenience. – Rulindil, 3rd Em. So – the Thalmor really do know nothing.

I switch to one of the notebooks – uh-oh. Delphine. Written in big bold letters on the first page. Status: Active (Capture or Kill) High Priority, Emissary Level Approval. Curious, I read on. Description: Female, Breton, mid 50s. Background: Delphine was a high-priority target during the First War, – that suggests they want another! – for both operational and political reasons. She was directly involved in several of the most damaging operations carried out by the Blades within the Dominion. She had been identified and was slated for the initial purge, but by bad luck was recalled to Cyrodiil just before the outbreak of hostilities. During the war, she evaded three attempts on her life, in one case killing an entire assassination team. Wow. Since then, we have only indirect evidence of her movements, as she has proven extremely alert to our surveillance. She should be considered very dangerous and no move against her should be made without overwhelming force and the most careful preparation. It continues:Operational Notes: She is believed to still be working actively against us within Skyrim, although we have no location on her. Assumed to be working alone, as no other Blades are known to be active in Skyrim, and she has in the past avoided contact with other fugitive Blades for her own security (one of the reasons she has so far evaded elimination). Her continued existence is an affront to all of us. Any information on her whereabouts or activities should be immediately forwarded to the Third Emissary. OK, never make Delphine angry. I save the other one for bedtime reading – it doesn't seem related to my current mission, though the front page does have Ulfric Stormcloak written on it in a similar font.

None of this looks good.

One of the items I picked up from the mage, whom I am assuming to be this Rulindil, was a spell book for Firebolt. Opening the little book, the spell burrows its way into my mind, leaving an empty wedge of paper in my hand, which fades away as I let it drop. Glancing around quickly to make sure no-one has entered, I descend the stairs and go through the door into a dungeon area.

There isn't much in here – three cells, a table with a chest next to it, and a lone patrolling guard. I sneak up behind the fellow – at last, I'm not seen! – and slash across the back of his knees before he can turn around and spot me. With a cry of pain, the guard stumbles around and draws his axe, but I slit his throat open before he can do anything else. The man in the nearest cell doesn't even raise his head – has he even noticed?

I empty the guard's coinpurse, then cross the room to the chest against the wall next to the table. The man in the cell can wait just a little longer. Inside, there is only another little notebook, this one with Esbern written on the fore-page.

Status: Fugitive (Capture Only), Highest Priority, Emissary Level Approval. Description: Male, Nord, Late 70s. Background: Esbern was one of the Blades' loremasters prior to the First War Against the Empire. He was not a field agent, but is now believed to have been behind some of the most damaging operations carried out by the Blades during the pre-war years, including the Falinesti Incident and the breach of the Blue River Prison. His file had remained dormant for many years, an inexcusable error on the part of my predecessor (who has been recalled to Alinor for punishment and re-education), in the erroneous belief that he was unlikely to pose a threat due to his advanced age and lack of field experience. A salutary reminder to all operational levels that no Blades agent should be considered low priority for any reason. All are to be found and justice exacted upon them. Operational Notes: As we are still in the dark as to the cause and meaning of the return of the dragons, I have made capturing Esbern our top priority, as he is known to be one of the experts in the dragonlore of the Blades. Regrettably, we have yet to match their expertise on the subject of dragons, which was derived from their Akaviri origins and is still far superior to our own (which remains largely theoretical). The archives of Cloud Ruler Temple, which is believed to have been the primary repository of the oldest Blades lore, were largely destroyed during the siege, and although great effort has been made to reconstruct what was lost, it now appears that most of the records related to dragons were either removed or destroyed prior to our attack. Thus Esbern remains our best opportunity to learn how and why the dragons have returned. It cannot be ruled out that the Blades themselves are somehow connected to the dragons' return. We have recently obtained solid information that Esbern is still alive and hiding somewhere in Riften. Interrogation of a possible eyewitness is on-going. We must proceed carefully to avoid Esbern becoming alerted to his danger. If he is indeed in Riften, he must not be given an opportunity to flee.

Well, that was most informative. Looks like this Esbern is the one to be looking for then.

I turn and open the cell in which the stricken man, who must be the man Gissur referred to as Etienne, hangs from the manacles attaching his wrists to the wall.

"I told you, I know nothing else about it." He says, not even looking up. Not that he could, at the angle he's hanging at.

"I'm not here to torture you." I respond.

"What? Who – what do you want then?" He struggles to raise his head.

"No time to explain. Let's get out of here." I use my dagger to prise the manacles open, and he drops to the floor, massaging his sore wrists.

"Yeah, sure; ok." Etienne wobbles to his feet. "Come on, this way. I've seen the guards use it to get rid of bodies. It must lead somewhere."

"Hold on," I grab his arm. "You may know something important."

"I damn well hope so. If it helps you twist them up, I'm glad to help." The flaxen-haired man squats against the cell wall. "They're after some old guy named Esbern. Something to do with dragons; I gathered it from listening to them talk when they thought I was out. I've seen a guy in Riften who they seem to think is him. Not much to go on – I don't even know where he lives, or even his name. But they seemed pretty excited about it. That's it – now, let's get out of here!"

"Sounds good. I'll follow you." I gesture out the door.

"Whatever you want; but let's go now." Etienne stumbles towards a trapdoor hidden under bloodstains in a corner. Before I can follow, however, a voice calls out from one of the balconies along the walls.

"Listen up, spy! You're trapped in here, and we have your accomplice. Surrender immediately or you both die." Looking up, I see two Thalmor guards, flanking Malborn. I start towards the stairs, making sure I look as unthreatening as possible. I plan to take them by surprise when they think they have me, but Malborn hasn't caught on.

"Never mind." He murmurs. "I'm dead already." The soldiers draw their weapons. Damn. I draw my own as I start hurrying up the stairs.

"Silence, traitor! Move; slowly." The soldiers begin to hit Malborn, but I charge in and slay the both of them before they can do too much damage to the poor orphan elf.

"Now the Thalmor will be hunting me for the rest of my life!" He complains. "I hope it was worth it."

Taking the soldiers' pay, and a key to the trapdoor, I lead the auburn Bosmer to the trapdoor and hop down, followed by the two fugitives. At the bottom of the ladder, the tunnel leads to a cave, occupied by a corpse, an interesting and unusual gem, and a troll.

"Fus Ro Dah!" I make the troll stumble as I jump down from the ledge, and I attack it as it rights itself, giving my companions time to dodge past and through the exit. The beast finally finds its feet, but I keep hitting it, not really giving it much of a chance to fight back, and soon its great furry body lies bleeding and oozing at my feet.

After picking up the gem and flicking through the book, I loot the body of the unfortunate wizard – the troll's previous victim, I suppose, judging by the maul-marks – then follow the two men out of the cave into the frozen night. I can see Malborn disappearing down the road to my right, so I do the same, eating some baked potatoes I'd picked up in the Embassy as I go.

It's very late now, past midnight, and I am exhausted! I don't really know where I am – it's too foggy to see very far. Past the snowline, however, I reach a crossroads and recognise the road between Solitude and Dragon Bridge. I soon reach the small town, passing a couple of Vigilants of Stendarr as I go, and I duck into the Four Shields inn.

Renting a room, I don't bother undressing. At least this time I'm not sleeping in heavy armour.


	10. Corruption and Conspiracy?

Gods, I'm tired. I've only had a couple of hours of sleep. At least I didn't dream this time. Neither do I have to struggle to put armour on – yet, anyway. I'd better get going though – it's later than it usually is when I wake up.

As I walk down the road and across the bridge, I read the little book that I didn't yesterday. The one about Ulfric Stormcloak.

Status: Asset (uncooperative), Dormant, Emissary Level Approval. Description: Jarl of Windhelm, leader of Stormcloak rebellion, Imperial Legion veteran. Background: Ulfric first came to our attention during the First War Against the Empire, when he was taken as a prisoner of war during the campaign for the White-Gold Tower. Under interrogation, we learned of his potential value (son of the Jarl of Windhelm) and he was assigned as an asset to the interrogator, who is now First Emissary Elenwen. He was made to believe information obtained during his interrogation was crucial in the capture of the Imperial City (the city had in fact fallen before he had broken), and then allowed to escape. After the war, contact was established and he has proven his worth as an asset. The so-called Markarth Incident was particularly valuable from the point of view of our strategic goals in Skyrim, although it resulted in Ulfric becoming generally uncooperative to direct contact. Operational Notes: Direct contact remains a possibility (under extreme circumstances), but in general the asset should be considered dormant. As long as the civil war proceeds in its current indecisive fashion, we should remain hands-off. The incident at Helgen is an example of where an exception had to be made – obviously Ulfric's death would have dramatically increased the chance of an Imperial victory and thus harmed our overall position in Skyrim. (NOTE: The coincidental intervention of the dragon at Helgen is still under scrutiny. The obvious conclusion is that whoever is behind the dragons also has an interest in the continuation of the war, but we should not assume therefore that their goals align with our own.) A Stormcloak victory is also to be avoided, however, so even indirect aid to the Stormcloaks must be carefully managed.

None of that looked very good. I think I'd better try and stay un-involved with this civil war business. Tucking the little book back into my bag, I continue by journey.

The rest of my trip is quiet, as is the road. Through Rorikstead and past the fort at the crossroads. A little closer to the Western Watchtower, however, an Argonian leaps out of the bushes and attacks me. This one doesn't stink of wine, but there is an insane glint in his reptilian eyes. The nearby guards take no notice of our battle – good thing I can handle myself then. Soon, the Argonian is lying at my feet, his belongings in my bag. I carry on towards Whiterun.

After a short stop at Belethor's, I head up the hill towards Dragonsreach. I can't think of anywhere else Lydia could've gone. As I wander up the long carpet, I spot her sat at one of the banquet tables.

"Honour to you, my Thane." She says when she sees me.

"Follow me, I need your help."

"Lead the way." She rises from her seat and accompanies me out of the city and along the road towards Riverwood, discovering along the way that the contract on my head still hasn't gone away. Ducking into the Sleeping Giant, we make our way through the common room and down the hidden steps into the basement room, where Delphine waits at the enchanting table.

"You made it out alive, at least. Your gear's safe in my room, as promised. Did you learn anything useful?" She says, straightening up.

I consider showing her the dossiers, but decide not to. "The Thalmor know nothing about the dragons."

"Really? That seems hard to believe. You're sure about that?" Why did she send me in if she wasn't going to believe me?

"I'm sure. They're looking for someone named Esbern."

"Esbern? He's alive?" Delphine gasps. "I thought the Thalmor must have got him years ago. That crazy old man... Figures the Thalmor would be on his trail though, if they were trying to find out what's going on with the dragons."

"What would the Thalmor want with Esbern?" Lydia asks behind me.

"You mean aside from wanting to kill every Blade they can lay their hands on? Esbern was one of the Blades' archivists, back before the Thalmor smashed us during the Great War." Seems each side has their own name for it. "He knew everything about the ancient dragonlore of the Blades – obsessed with it, really. Nobody paid much attention back then. I guess he wasn't as crazy as we all thought."

"They seem to think he's hiding out in Riften..." I mention.

"Riften, eh? Probably down in the Ratway then. It's where I'd go. You'd better get to Riften. Talk to Brynjolf – he's... well –connected. A good starting point, at least." Delphine suggests. This Brynjolf sounds a little shady to me. Even I can remember some of the stories the refugees in the hut told about Riften.

"Oh, and when you find Esbern – if you think I'm paranoid..." Continues the Blade. "You may have some trouble getting him to trust you. Just ask him where he was on the 30th Frostfall. He'll know what it means." With that, she turns and climbs the stairs back into the common room.

Crossing the room to the chest against the left hand wall, I retrieve everything I need. Donning my armour, I pull out of my bags the notes and other things I want to keep – as curiosities – and put them into the chest along with the empty satchel. Then I turn and leave the inn, Lydia trailing behind.

As I walk down the road, I pull out the baked potato and the wedge of cheese I saved and munch on them. I'm licking the last crumbs off of my fingers when we catch up with a group of bandits – who decide we look weak enough to attack. After proving them oh-so-very wrong, and looting them of their previous prizes – along with a helm that is better than the one I currently wear – I continue along the road, only to be stopped by the group at Valtheim.

I manage to haggle them down to fifty gold pieces again, and jog on down the road towards the trio of revellers who look suspiciously familiar. That's it – they're the people from before! Instead of talking to them much though, I toss the leader the bottle he had given me before – I had been wondering why I was keeping it – and in his gratitude, he gives me an amulet that shines with more than just polish.

Parting ways, the next few miles of the trip is quiet, except for being attacked by a wandering mage, that is. Leaving his body for the sabre cat that prowls nearby, we follow the road as it twists and turns – away from our destination. We encounter a hunter's track though, so following that, we come across a small pool, with a cave in an opening in the rock beneath. Curious, I enter the small opening.

Inside there is a single troll, surrounded by fungi. Shooting the troll is easy – it never even suspected we were there, and it only took a couple of arrows from the shadows to kill. Behind it, a bow sits on a rather elaborate stand, and beneath that is a chest containing a couple of potions and a handful of gold. The bow glimmers with enchantment, so I tuck that into my bag along with my loot and samples of all the fungi growing in the cave.

Emerging from the cave, I find that night has fallen. Following the track, it fades out a little further on. Judging my position from the stars and my map, I head in a south-south-westerly direction until I come across a farm, outside which a Dark Elf man is still working at a grindstone, and grumbling to himself about thieves and bows.

"Who in the name of Azura are you?" He cries when he spots us. "Do you know where my bow is?"

"What happened to your bow?" I ask.

"A few days ago, some thieves from Riften broke in here and stole it. Can you imagine? Took the only thing of value we had. If you have the guts to head into the Ratway and get my bow back, I'll pay you what I can."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks." The farmer seems relieved. "It would be nice to have it back... means a lot to me." He returns to grinding the wheat in the grindstone well.

Yawning, I follow the dirt track to the road leading up to the front gate into Riften. Before I can get near the wooden doors, however, one of the gate guards stops me.

"Hold there. Before I let you into Riften, you need to pay the visitor's tax."

"What's the tax for?" This sounds very suspicious to me.

"For the privilege of entering the city. What does it matter?" Yep. Definitely a rip-off.

"This is obviously a shake-down."

"All right, keep your voice down. You want everyone to hear you? I'll let you in, just let me unlock the gate." The guard trudges to the gate and fiddles with a great lock in one of the doors. "The gate's unlocked. You can head inside when you're ready."

As I pass through the gate, I stop to listen to a conversation going on nearby. I probably shouldn't, but I might learn something about this dank looking place.

"I had another run-in with the Thieves' Guild." An armoured woman was saying to the seated fellow opposite her.

"Be careful, Mjoll. The Thieves' Guild has Maven Black-Briar at their back. One snap of her fingers and you could end up in Riften Gaol, or worse." He replies.

"They represent the reason I'm here. I can't just ignore them, Aerin."

"I know, I just don't want you to leave; you're the only good thing that's happened to this city in a long time."

As I walk up the street, I'm stopped again by a man leaning against a support post for a balcony running around the houses lining the right hand side of the street.

"I don't know you. You in Riften looking for trouble?" He says gruffly.

"Just passing through." I respond.

"Yeah? Well, I got news for you; there's nothing to see here. Last thing the Black-Briars need is some stranger sticking their nose where it doesn't belong."

"Who are the Black-Briars?" The name rings a bell, albeit a quiet one.

"The Black-Briars have Riften in their pocket and the Thieves' Guild watching their back, so keep your nose out of their business. Me? I'm Maul. I watch the streets for them. If you need dirt on anything, I'm your guy – but it'll cost you." Before I can ask anything, though, Maul runs off towards a commotion going on at the market – which turns out to be caused by a great black dog attacking the citizens. I'm too late to lend a hand though – the guards finish it off before I can even draw my sword.

Ducking into the Bee and Barb, I'm just in time to catch a speech made by a robed man standing in the middle of the common room.

"People of Riften!" He cries. "Heed my words! The return of the dragons is not mere coincidence! This is one of the signs – the signs that Lady Mara is displeased with your constant inebriation! Put down your flagons filled with your vile liquids and embrace the teachings of the Handmaiden of Kyne!"

"No, no, Maramal." Murmurs the Argonian innkeeper. "We talked about this. Talen..."

"Keerava," Says Maramal. "Certainly we can come to some sort of understanding. These people must be made aware of the chaos they've sown."

"Enough, Maramal." Growls the male Argonian who had approached the priest as he talked. "We've all heard of the dragons and their return. There's no need to use them as an excuse to harass our customers."

"Very well, Talen. I'll remove myself from this den of iniquity." The priest sulks.

"We're not kicking you out; just keep the sermons at the temple and let us all sin in peace." With that, Maramal leaves, and everything returns to the peaceful drinking that is tavern life.

I approach the bar, and am given a not-so-warm welcome by Keerava.

"If you've got the coin, you're welcome here. Otherwise, hit the road."

"I'm looking for an old guy, hiding out somewhere in Riften."

"Never heard of anybody like that." The lizard responds. "But if you want to hide out in Riften, the Ratway's where you'd be. There's a sort of tavern down there, the Ragged Flagon; where all the lowlifes in Riften get drunk and knife each other. You might try there, if you can get through the Ratway alive."

Yawning again, I hire a room and follow the innkeeper up the wooden stairs. This Esbern can hold out one more night.


	11. The Ratway

Leaving the inn, we head towards a set of stairs leading down to a walkway around the edge of the canal running through the middle of the town. Finding the iron gate closing off the door to the tunnels under the city is easy. Remembering Keerava's warning, though, I draw my bow before carefully pushing the door open and sneaking inside.

A little way into the dark, wet interior, I hear voices coming from ahead, so ducking into an area cut out of the walls, I listen in.

"I dunno, Drahff. They'd skin us alive if they knew we were doing this." One says.

"Why are you always acting like such a big baby? I've gotten us this far." Replies another, smoother voice.

"This far? We're living in a sewer. You said we'd have a house as big as the Black-Briars' by now."

"You worry about bashing people's heads in, I'll worry about the Guild, OK?" The one addressed as Drahff responds.

"OK, OK."

"I'm going to check the entrance to the Ratway. Be right back."

Footsteps approach my little hidey-hole, and I crouch further into the shadows, hoping I can just sneak past. But Lydia doesn't like hiding, it seems – with a yell, she draws her sword and bursts out in front of the hopeless thief, who cries out for his companion as he counter-attacks. I launch an arrow at the fellow with a sigh – can't we just once avoid all this? As his corpse falls to the floor, I take all the coin I can find in his bag and continue down the dripping tunnels.

We've only gone a few steps when the other man turns the corner ahead and comes charging at us, war-axe in hand. An arrow to the knee and a sword across his chest later, Lydia and I continue through the dank passages until we come to a door, an obvious tripwire leading from a clamp across the jamb to a hole in the ground. Opening the door will release the cord, setting off whatever lurks on the other side.

I find the small hole in the clamp where the trap was set, and carefully insert a lockpick, gently wiggling it around until, with a quiet click, the cord comes loose and the clamp opens – with no side effects on the other side of the door.

Pushing it open, I find the trap was merely a ceramic lamp hanging above an oil slick. A skeever is lurking in the next tunnel, and it comes leaping out at us, fangs bared. The enchantment from the emblems has worn off, it seems. Lydia deals with the giant vermin as I loot the side room. Then, after retreating up the skeever's tunnel a short distance, I shoot an arrow at the lantern – don't want it falling on anyone else coming through these passages.

A little further on, another door reveals a room, the entrance looped with bear traps, and a ragged man lurking in a dark corner surrounded by empty mead bottles. He notices us silhouetted in the doorway, and he shouts, stands and comes running at us, his fists raised, his gloves glimmering. Enchanted gloves, huh? Where did he get those?

Personally, I think it would be rather mean to attack someone who is unarmed with weapons, but Lydia has no such qualms, and slices him open with her deft blade. He crumples, and bleeds out at my feet. Oh well. I take the gloves and pass through into the open space beyond.

An opening in the ceiling lets in enough light for plant-life to grow in the space in the middle. Picking the flowers to use in alchemy later, I continue on, slaying a thug hanging around a makeshift tavern space in the next room. An archway opposite leads to a raised drawbridge, which I lower to find it reaches to the platform we jumped down from earlier, after killing the other fellow from the entrance. At the back of the room, in an alcove, is a door, through which I assume we need to go. On the jamb is carved a symbol I haven't seen before – a diamond with a circle inside. Wondering what it means, I push the door open and pass through.

I was right. I now stand on the edge of a large cistern, and on the other side, a wooden platform has been built to house the Ragged Flagon. Passing the muscular fellow standing scowling at the entrance to the platform, I approach who I assume to be the innkeeper, who is sweeping the plank floor. Judging by the grime covering the surface, this is a futile effort.

"Got a lot of nerve coming down here. People tend to get hurt in the Ratway." He says, still focussed on sweeping.

"I'm looking for an old guy hiding out somewhere in Riften." I tell him.

"Huh – lot of old guys around. I don't really know how I can help."

"I need to talk to him. I'm a friend. His life is in danger."

This man is not so easily persuaded as those I've previously encountered. "That's a touching story." He says to the floor. "Now get out of my face."

"Please." I pull out a large handful of gold – money solves a lot of problems. "Maybe this will help your memory."

The publican finally looks up at me. "Well, when you put it that way... I think I do know the old guy you're talking about. He's holed up in the Ratway Warrens." Not sure what he means by that. "Hardly ever leaves the place – has someone bring him food and such. Crazy old coot, from what I've heard. For that to stand out down here, he must really be off his nut." With that last comment, the man returns to his sweeping, only to be interrupted by one of his patrons calling his name from across the tavern.

The door I can see in an alcove at the back of the area must be the one I need to take to find these 'warrens'. Pushing it open, I crouch into a shadow and pull out my bow – there is a Thalmor wizard standing opposite me, luckily with his back to where Lydia and I are currently hiding. Maybe I am too late after all.

In the shadows of a room which I can see through iron grids covering the arched windows, I can see another Thalmor lurking. Damn. Hoping they don't see me, I draw an arrow to my cheek and launch it at the robed figure, and watch in dismay as the projectile clatters into the wall ahead of him. I quickly loose another as the wizard turns to see where the arrow came from, this one hitting him in the side.

With a cry that alerts the fellow in the room beneath, and another that I can't see at the moment, he casts a ward and prepares a flame spell in his other hand. Too late – my third arrow passes through his ward and into his shoulder; his falling body collides with the soldier rushing around the corner, making him trip straight into Lydia's steel. Ha!

The third one appears as we round the corner into a corridor approaching a room with a bed tucked into the corner, a fire opposite and the body of a Nord lying slumped against the foot of the bed. The elf cries out as he charges towards us, cutting through a tripwire and swinging his mace at me as a spiked iron ball swings across the doorway behind him. Lydia is quick into the fray, swinging her sword to catch his weapon before it smashes into my face. Using this opportunity, I swing my orcish blade across his legs. The Thalmor stumbles, and Lydia slices through his neck like a hot knife through butter.

Through the room beyond, which turns out to be a rather large L-shaped one, we enter a circular passage sloping gently down into the room beyond the iron grids that I could see from the entrance. In one of the alcoves to the left, there is another ceramic lamp, so I tip it off of the small hook holding it aloft above the small gap in the floor beneath, and mentally nod when I hear it smash and the whoomph of igniting oil from the room below.

Along another passage, across a balcony above the floor of the first room, through an armoury and into a meeting room, the table in the centre covered with gold and an enchanted war-axe slammed into the middle. In the corner of the room, a chest sits beneath another carved symbol, this one a lined square inside a diamond. Inside the wooden container is a bow, the name 'Dravin' etched into the wooden limbs. This must be that farmer's bow. Tucking it into my satchel, along with the war-axe and the gold, I push open the door on the other side of the room and slip through.

Beyond the door, I find a corridor, an iron gate in the right hand wall. Finding the gate locked, I insert a lockpick and carefully pick the lock, letting the gate swing open when I'm done.

The gate leads into a large room lined with smaller ones, from inside of which come the voices of the occupants. They don't sound too accommodating. One is listing various items over and over, while another tries to draw us over for a 'tasty meal'. Judging by the blood smears on his vest though, I don't think we will be doing any of the eating.

One door, however, seems much sturdier than the others. Knocking on the door, I step back as the view hole door is slid open.

"Go away!" says the wrinkled man within.

"Esbern? Open the door, I'm a friend."

"What? No, that's not me; I'm not Esbern. I don't know what you're talking about." The fervency of that denial only confirms his identity.

"The Thalmor have found you; you need to get out of here." I try to persuade him, to no avail.

"Oh, how reassuring! Most likely you're with the Thalmor and this is just a trick to get me to open the door!"

"Delphine said to 'remember the 30th Frostfall." I think that's what she said. Nevertheless, it seems to have had some effect.

"Ah, indeed, indeed. I do remember. Delphine really is alive then? You'd better come in then and tell me how you found me and what you want." With that, the view hole door closes, and from inside comes the scrapes and clanks of many locks being opened. Soon, the door is pulled open, and after Lydia trudges inside after me, I push the door closed again.

"So Delphine keeps up the fight, after all these years. I thought she'd have realised it's hopeless by now. I tried to tell her, years ago..." Esbern says as I turn back to face him.

"The Thalmor have found you." I repeat my statement from before. "We need to get out of here."

"Yes, yes, you said; but so what? The end is upon us. I may as well die here as anywhere else. I'm tired of running."

"What do you mean, 'the end is upon us'?"

"Haven't you figured it out yet? What more needs to happen before you all wake up and see what's going on? Alduin has returned, just like the prophecy said! The dragon from the Dawn of Time, who devours the souls of the dead. No-one can escape his hunger, here or in the afterlife! Alduin will devour all things and the world will end. Nothing can stop him. I tried to tell them; they wouldn't listen, fools. It's all come true... all I could do was watch our doom approach."

"Alduin... the dragon who's raising the others?" I ask, feeling a little scared now. Even Lydia looks a little worried.

"Yes, yes! You see, you know; but you refuse to understand!" Esbern looks a little relieved to have finally got his point across.

"You're talking about the literal end of the world?"

"Oh, yes. It's all been foretold. The end has begun; Alduin has returned. Only a Dragonborn can stop him, but no Dragonborn has been known for centuries. It seems that the gods have grown tired of us. They've left us to our fate, as the playthings of Alduin the World-Eater."

"It's not hopeless, Esbern. I'm Dragonborn."

"What – you're..? Can it really be true – Dragonborn? Then – there is hope! The gods have not abandoned us! We must... we must..." Esbern pauses to catch his breath. "We must go, quickly now." That's what I've been trying to tell him! "Take me to Delphine; we have much to discuss. But give me...just a moment. I must gather a few things." He trots off around the small room, picking up various items. I assist in packing up his belongings, and soon the room is empty and we are ready to go.

Outside, there are various noises that, when the door is opened, are revealed to be another small troop of Thalmor. They are quickly dealt with, helped by Esbern's summoned Flame Atronach.

The rest of the trip back up to Riften is quiet. When we emerge from the canal walkway, however, a Khajiit wearing mere farmer's clothing attacks us, crying something about crossing the Thalmor. Poor cat burns to death in seconds. In its pocket, protected from the flames, I find an interesting note.

I have good reason to believe the target will be coming to Riften in the next few days. Discretion is preferred, but elimination of the target is of the highest priority. The usual restrictions on exposure are lifted – you will be reassigned outside Skyrim if necessary, without penalty. Do not fail me. – E. Well, it's pretty obvious who 'E' is. Should have sent a more competent assassin, Elenwen.

Outside the city, I head back to the farm – the sign at the beginning of the little track reads 'Merryfair Farm' – and approach the Dunmer owner, who is feeding the chickens.

"So has my bow turned up yet?" He asks by way of greeting.

"I found your bow." I hand him the weapon, and he grins, slinging it straight across his back.

"That's it; you found it! I don't know how you got it back, and I don't want to know. Frankly, I don't even care. I'm just so glad to see it again. Here – this is all I can afford to give you as compensation. I hope it is enough."

I thought the bow was the only thing of value Dravin had – he's given me a small handful of gems! What did he do, prise them off of his wedding ring or something? The strange citizens of Skyrim!

Returning to the road, I follow it down to a fort standing right over the road, occupied by bandits. The dilapidated sign informs me that we have arrived at Fort Greenwall. The bandits soon notice us, and so we fight back, Lydia with her sword, I with my bow and Esbern summoning his Atronach.

Deciding to clear out the interior as well, I push open the door next to the forge and creep inside. There aren't that many bandits inside, so I we manage to get them one by one. At the bottom there is a webbed off staircase, the other side of which is inhabited by several giant spiders.

The fort is soon empty and waiting for its next tenants to move in. Continuing on down the road, we find the small mining settlement of Shor's Stone, and a little way beyond, a watchtower, guarded by the corpse of a guardsman. Oh dear.

Inside, the weapons are scattered on the floor, and the stairwell is decorated with the bodies of his companions. On the table opposite the entrance I find a note which explains what happened.

Akar, We've word of a band of Legion soldiers advancing on your position. Reinforcements are on the way. Talos guard you. Damn the Empire.

While on the road, we are attacked by various wolves, and a bear. While we are struggling with the bear, night falls and we make the rest of the journey in the dark, dodging past the Valtheim bandits when they are distracted by an elk dashing past. Just after we pass the bridge across the river, we are attacked by a mad Bosmer, his blade whirling and a spell in his other hand. He soon lies, bloodied and charred, at my feet, his satchel full of potions and a little gold.

It's a bit too late to meet up with Delphine now, so I lead my companions to the Bannered Mare, and rent the room. Letting Esbern have the bed, I slump into a chair on the balcony and eventually doze off.


	12. The Forsworn of Sky Haven Temple

Waking up, stiff and still tired, I realise that what I just dreamt wasn't a dream at all – it was a memory! I was only seven years old when the daedra attacked Tamriel. Of course, I'm one of the few alive these days who can remember the terror and the fires, ended only when the last Septim sacrificed himself. Only other elves, those older than I, would remember any of that. The Oblivion Crisis, they called it. The beginning of the end of the Empire, in reality; when it all started to fall apart.

Stopping on the way down to the common room to wake Esbern, we set off out of the city and along the road to Riverwood. The road is silent; not even wild animals are waiting to ambush us this early in the morning. I realise I'm still carting around a whole heap of extra stuff I don't need, so I stop off at the Trader before ducking into the Sleeping Giant.

Delphine, still in her armour, is helping Orgnar out behind the bar when we enter.

"Delphine!" Cries Esbern, striding across the room. "I – it's good to see you. It's been...a long time."

"It's good to see you too, Esbern." Responds the quiet Blade. "It's been too long, old friend, too long. Well then, you made it, safe and sound. Good. Come on, I have a place we can talk." She turns to her stoic barman. "Orgnar, hold down the bar for a minute, will you?"

"Yeah, sure." He rumbles in reply.

"This way." Delphine leads the way down into the secret basement. "Now then, I assume you know about..." She trails off, as though unwilling to say my name.

"Oh, yes. Dragonborn! Indeed, yes. This changes everything, of course. There's no time to lose. We must locate... let me show you. I know I had it here somewhere..." Heading toward the table, Esbern begins searching his pockets.

"Esbern, what..?" Delphine's confused.

"Give me... just a moment... ah! Here it is. Come, let me show you." He places a book on the table and flicks it open to a map, labelled in tiny letters. "You see, right here. Sky Haven Temple." He points at one of the miniature icons. "Constructed around one of the Akaviri military camps during their conquest of Skyrim."

"Do you know what he's talking about?" Delphine impatiently asks me.

"Shh! This is where they built Alduin's Wall; to set down in stone all of their accumulated dragonlore. A hedge against the forgetfulness of centuries. A wise and foresighted policy, in the event. Despite the far reaching fame of Alduin's Wall at the time – one of the wonders of the ancient world – its location was lost."

"Esbern, what are you getting at?" Delphine's impatience is starting to grate on my temper.

"You mean... you don't mean to say you haven't heard of Alduin's Wall? Either of you?" Esbern is shocked.

"Let's pretend we haven't." Delphine says as I shake my head. "What's Alduin's Wall and what does it have to do with stopping the dragons?"

"Alduin's Wall was where the ancient Blades recorded all they knew of Alduin and his return." The archivist explains. "Part history, part prophecy; its location has been lost for centuries, but I've found it again. Not lost, you see, just forgotten. The Blades archives held so many secrets...I was only able to save a few scraps..." Esbern pauses, obviously mourning the loss of so much knowledge. I know how he feels; I also hate to see books burn.

"So you think that Alduin's Wall will tell us how to defeat Alduin?"

"Well, yes but... there's no guarantee."

"Sky Haven Temple it is, then." Delphine decides. "I knew you'd have something for us, Esbern." She turns to Lydia and I. "I know the area of the Reach that Esbern's talking about. Near what's now known as Karthspire, in the Karth River canyon. We can meet you there or all travel together, your call."

I'm not entirely sure where it is, but I can see from the map in the book it's somewhere west, and it would be safer to travel separately so the Thalmor at least have a hard time rounding us all up. "I'll meet you at Karthspire."

"Your call. Might be safer to travel separately – attract less attention that way. Don't worry; I'll get Esbern there in one piece. We'll wait for you near Karthspire. Good luck." As she heads back upstairs with Esbern, I stash the few items I didn't sell – the ones I want to keep – in the chest and follow them up just in time to catch a short conversation between Delphine and the barman.

"Orgnar, this is it. The inn is yours. I'm probably never coming back here." Delphine says.

"Well, now. That's something to think about." He responds.

"Take care of yourself, Orgnar. Goodbye."

"Yeah, sure. You too, Delphine. You be safe." Orgnar says to her retreating back. Was it just me, or was there a loving note in his voice?

A strange noise makes me pause in my tracks. When it happens again, I realise it's my stomach! I am rather hungry, though. I pull some cheese and some apples out of my bag and sit down to munch on them, giving the two Blades a head start.

About half an hour later, I'm leading Lydia along the western road out of town. We jog past the Guardian Stones, and past the turn up to Helgen. I'm not planning on going back there any time soon. If you've seen one ruined town, you've seen them all, and I have seen many a ruined town in my two hundred years. Wow, that makes me sound ancient!

Defeating the skeevers, and then the skeletons, that attack us as we travel along the stony path is easy; no more than a whack each is necessary, really. A signpost at the next crossroad tells us that Falkreath is along the left turn. I'll visit the Jarl later, though; maybe when I'm not so busy. Past Half-Moon Mill, down the slope and along the road between the towering cliffs of the mountains. Here, I find a couple of iron ore veins, which I mine a little of, and just past that is the remains of an ambushed lone Khajiit merchant. A little beyond the unfortunate cat's corpse, two boys, each not far past ten, stop me.

"Hey there! Check out what my friend and I found. I'll sell some of it to you, if you want." He shows me a small chunk of Dwemer metalwork, obviously broken off of a larger piece. Even tiny things like this one are very valuable to collectors.

"Where did you get this, boy?" Lydia demands.

"I found them near the old Dwemer bridge in the far west." Them? Where are these boys' parents? They surely shouldn't be letting them roam so far from home, what with current affairs as they are. "I'll mark it down for you on your map, for a small fee."

"Fine, you little swindler." I say with a smile. This child has potential as a great merchant, one day! "Here's a septim. Now where's this bridge?" I love exploring old ruins – when they aren't occupied by their former residents, that is!

"Thank you! I'm Sond, by the way; and this is my friend Bottar. You'll find the ruins right here. Bye!" With that, the two boys run off back into the wilderness.

Continuing down the road, lined with large mossy boulders, a couple more skeevers try their luck, and a little further on a mudcrab takes umbrage at our tripping over it. Its own fault for sitting in the middle of the road. As we reach the bridges leading to what can only be Karthspire, a roar echoes across the sky. Damn, just what we need.

The dragon swoops low, breathing fire on us as we draw our bows. Lydia just fires at it constantly, but knowing that will fail, I wait until it pauses, hovering in the air, taking a deep breath to attempt another roasting.

I loose my arrow, and Shout to speed it on its way. The dragon somehow stumbles in mid-air as the wall of air caused by my Shout hits it along with the arrow. Flapping its wings as strongly as it can, it swoops across the canyon, slows, and lands in a clear space nearby.

I shoot at it until I can get no closer, then pull out my warhammer and start slamming away at its scaly, horse-like face. I Shout again in an attempt at preventing it from taking off, and dodge the arrow that Lydia sends flying past me, so close that I can hear it whistle past my ear. Suddenly, a fireball shoots from somewhere to my right, and that finishes the dragon off. I step back and search for the source of the ball of flame as the dragon burns beside me, its soul rushing to join mine. I spot an Atronach floating a little way up the road, but it disappears – just as Esbern and Delphine appear. That explains it.

Retrieving the arrows that fell to the ground when the beast's flesh burnt away, I head towards them, and see that behind them, the base of Karthspire has become a camp for some strangely dressed people. They wear only hides, strapped to their bodies with leather cords, and occasionally a headdress of either feathers or antlers. And they do not look happy to see us. But we have to go through their camp to reach Karthspire, so we head toward it.

The nearest people draw their weapons and warn us to back off. Ignoring them, I attempt to head straight for our goal, but they have other ideas. Screaming that Skyrim belongs to the Forsworn, they attack. That is it. If they want to block our way, they can do it in Aetherius.

Soon, the camp lies devoid of all life. Or so I think. A screech and a giant icicle smashing against the boulder next to me proves me wrong. I turn to find the source of the strange noise – and encounter one of the strangest things I have ever seen. Part bird, part woman, it blasts ice at us, screeching the whole time. I've heard of beings like this – Hagravens. It's almost as tough as the dragon was, but it soon screams its last and lies in a pool of its own blood at the top of the steps up to the forge that the Forsworn had set up above their camp.

OK. That's that sorted; now to find this Sky Haven Temple. On the other side of the canyon lies a cave, through which we trot to find the interior inhabited by more Forsworn, one of them seemingly with a small pine-cone-like object in place of his heart. They don't prove to be much of a challenge though, and so we continue on through a passage at the back of the cave and into a vast cavern, lined with raised stone bridges. At the top of the ramp on the right side of the cavern, three pillars stand, reminding me of the Nordic pillars in Bleak Falls Barrow, except the images on these are carved, not embossed.

"This looks promising." Says Delphine when she sees them.

"Yes, definitely early Akaviri stonework here." Esbern agrees.

"We've got to get this bridge down. These pillars must have something to do with it." The two Blades climb the steps, Lydia and I following.

"Yes." Esbern mutters thoughtfully. "These are Akaviri symbols. Let's see...you have the symbol for 'king'... and 'warrior'... and, of course, the symbol for 'Dragonborn'. That's the one that appears to have a sort of arrow shape pointing downward at the bottom." I think I see where this is going.

I turn the left hand pillar once, until it shows the same image as the one on the right, and the brazier behind it begins glowing as the charred wood inside begins to burn of its own accord.

"Yes, that's it! The symbol on the pillar on the left." Esbern says, just before I turn the central one to show the same picture. The second brazier bursts into flame, and the first stone bridge descends in a controlled fall. I'm surprised the old mechanisms are still working so well.

"Whatever you did, it worked." Delphine fails at watching what's going on again. "Let's see what else those old Blades left in our way."

Trotting across the bridge, I brush away the thin cobweb covering the empty doorway, and through the passage beyond. It leads into a room, the floor covered with tiles in a pattern of the symbols on the pillars. Only it looks more like the tiles were set at random.

"Wait!" Cries Esbern as I prepare to step into the room. I withdraw my booted foot.

"Why are you stopping?" Delphine asks from behind us.

"We should be careful here. See these symbols on the floor?" Esbern suggests. Looking again, I think I see what I was too careless – and tired – to spot before.

Delphine sees it too. "Hmm. Esbern's right; look like pressure plates."

"Be careful." The old man warns as I look for the pattern that I thought I noticed before.

Yes, I was right. There is a pattern, of sorts – the 'Dragonborn' symbols form a twisting path across the room towards a chain spouting from the mouth of a sculpture.

I carefully step onto the plate, indicating to Lydia to stay put for now, and await anything adverse happening. Nothing. I was right – I follow the path and pull the chain. Nothing seems to happen; then I hear the rumble and grating of the other bridge falling into place.

"Looks safe now. Let's move." Delphine leads Esbern across the now-disabled floor.

"Yes, yes!" That seems to be Esbern's favourite phrase. "I think we must be close to the entrance."

I gesture to Lydia, and we follow them into an open-ceilinged room, with a great carved wall at the other end, what must be the doorway covered by a giant sculpture of a head. Just in front of it, a circular carving sits, seemingly twisted so that any image it showed was disjointed.

"Wonderful!" Exclaims Esbern. "Remarkably well preserved, too. Ah, here's the 'Blood Seal'. Another of the lost Akaviri arts. No doubt triggered by... well, blood. Your blood, Dragonborn." He continues, leaving me searching my satchel for a dagger or some way of drawing blood. "Look here, you see how the ancient Blades revered Reman Cyrodiil?" He's inspecting the great stone head now. Finally giving up, I pull out the chisel I use when picking locks and scrape the edge along my palm. Ouch! Letting the blood seeping from my wound drip onto the Blood Seal, I then straighten and heal my wound. I have to jump back as the stonework beneath my feet twists, and the Seal reforms into another giant image of the 'Dragonborn' symbol, and the great bust of Reman Cyrodiil rises up, revealing a short staircase up to the entrance to Sky Haven Temple.

Esbern hasn't even noticed yet. "This whole place appears to be a shrine to Reman." He murmurs, studying the stonework beside the now open entrance. "He ended the Akaviri Invasion under mysterious circumstances, you recall."

Delphine, however, did see what happened. "You did it – there's the entrance!" Her cry jerks her comrade back into the present, and he also spots the opening. "After you, Dragonborn." Delphine continues. "You should have the honour of being the first to set foot in Sky Haven Temple."

"There's no telling what we might find inside!" Considering the entrance has been sealed since the last occupants left all those centuries ago, there won't be anything alive at least.

As I push the door open, Delphine lights a torch and uses it to light the braziers we pass as we climb the twisting staircase revealed by the old wood.

"Fascinating." Esbern is distracted again by the carvings lining the walls. "Original Akaviri bas-reliefs... almost entirely intact!" I know now why adventurers in the stories hate travelling with scholars. He heads to another further up the stairs. "Amazing. You can see how the Akaviri craftsmen were beginning to embrace the more flowing Nordic style."

"We're here for Alduin's Wall, right, Esbern?" Delphine reminds, gazing at something in the main hall ahead.

"Yes, of course. We'll have more time to look around later, I suppose. Let's see what's up ahead." Delphine leaves the doorway, still lighting braziers as she goes, giving us room to enter the huge hall.

"Shor's bones!" Esbern cries when he spots the massive carved wall that dominates the room, even in the darkness. It truly is a beautiful sight, really – time hasn't worn the face of the work at all.

"Here it is! Alduin's Wall!" Esbern almost stumbles in his hurry to light the brazier at the beginning of the great stone work. "So well preserved... I've never seen a finer example of early Second Era Akaviri sculptural relief..."

"Esbern, we need information, not a lecture on art history." Delphine joins us, having lit the other brazier at the far end of the wall.

"Yes, yes. Let's see what we have... Look, here is Alduin! This panel goes back to the beginning of time, when Alduin and the Dragon Cult ruled over Skyrim." He begins to wander along the length of the carving, scrutinising every little detail. "Here, the humans rebel against their dragon overlords – the legendary Dragon War. Alduin's defeat is the centrepiece of the Wall." He stops in front of a carving of a great dragon falling towards three figures with their arms raised. "You see, here he is falling from the sky. The Nord Tongues – masters of the Voice – are arrayed against him."

"So does it show how they defeated him? Isn't that why we're here?" Delphine is obviously getting annoyed with having to wait for an answer. I, on the other hand, was quite enjoying listening to the story depicted on the Wall.

"Patience, my dear." Responds her fellow Blade. "The Akaviri were not a straightforward people. Everything is couched in allegory and mythic symbolism." He examines the carving more closely. "Yes, yes; this here coming from the mouths of the Nord heroes – this is the Akaviri symbol for 'shout'. But... there's no way to know what Shout is meant."

Delphine's eyebrows try to climb into her flaxen hair. "You mean they used a Shout to defeat Alduin? Are you sure?" I'm not surprised, myself. I thought it would come down to that sort of thing.

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Presumably something rather specific to dragons, or even Alduin himself. Remember, this is where they recorded all that they knew of Alduin and his return." Esbern doesn't even turn from his examination of the great carved stone.

"So we're looking for a Shout, then. Damn it!" Delphine turns to me, a tiny glint of hope in her blue eyes. Have you ever heard of such a thing? A Shout that can knock a dragon out of the sky?"

"No, I've never heard of anything like that." I see the little spark of hope die.

"I was afraid you were going to say that." She sighs. "I guess there's nothing for it. We'll have to ask the Greybeards for help. I hoped to avoid involving them in this, but we have no other choice."

"What do you have against the Greybeards?" I ask, curious.

"If they had their way, you'd do nothing but sit up on their mountain with them and talk to the sky, or whatever it is they do." Delphine spits bitterly. "The Greybeards are so afraid of power that they won't use it. Think about it – have they tried to stop the civil war, or done anything about Alduin? No! And they're afraid of you, of your power. Trust me, there's no need to be afraid. Think of Tiber Septim! Do you think he'd have founded the Empire if he'd listened to the Greybeards?"

"Don't worry; I'm not afraid of my own power." I say; mainly to put a stop to her rant.

"Good. The Greybeards can teach you a lot, but don't let them turn you away from your destiny. You're Dragonborn, and you're the only one who can stop Alduin. Don't forget it."

"I'd better go see what Arngeir knows about this Shout."

"Right. Good thing they've already let you into their little cult. Not likely they'd help Esbern of me if we came calling. We'll look around Sky Haven Temple and see what else the old Blades might have left us. It's a better hideout than I could've hoped for. Talos guard you." Delphine wanders off, lighting braziers as she explored.

"Look here, in the third panel." Esbern says, catching my attention. "The prophecy which brought the Akaviri to Tamriel in the first place, in search of the Dragonborn. Here are the Akaviri – the Blades – you see their distinctive long-swords? Now they kneel, their ancient mission fulfilled, as the Last Dragonborn contends with Alduin at the End of Time. Are you paying attention, Delphine?" he says as she passes us along the walkway above the Wall. "You might learn something of our own history."

Looking at the Wall myself, I think I understand some parts of it. The giant figure in the background must be the Akulakhan, a creation of Dagoth Ur in an attempt to create a new god, and destroyed by the Nerevarine, in the year after I was born. And the Daedric 'O' surely stands for the Oblivion Gates, which opened all across Tamriel and ended the Third Era in 433. Looking at this makes me feel old again, considering it is now 4E201. I am now 208 years old – still young by elven reckoning, but ancient compared to a human's average lifespan of eighty years or so.

I'm exhausted now – sleeping in a chair doesn't mean a good night's rest – and the light falling through the cracks in the ceiling has almost faded completely. I begin searching for a bed, or something to sleep on.

In a room opposite Alduin's Wall, an enchanted katana lies on a table, and in a chest, a complete set of Akaviri armour, still in good condition, and complete with shield. It actually seems to be better than what I'm currently wearing, so I swap it around and tuck the blade into my satchel. A room at the back of the hall has beds in it – and the straw hasn't rotted away completely, meaning they're not too uncomfortable.


	13. Paarthurnax

On my way out of the temple the next morning, I mine the various ore veins that are scattered through the cave and take all the valuable things the Forsworn had left in their camp. Outside, we re-join the road, and head off back towards Whiterun. We haven't travelled far when a small group of wolves pit their teeth against our weapons, losing their lives in the attempt. Passing a Dunmer muttering about joining the Legion, we reach the pass through the mountains separating Whiterun from the Reach, to encounter a trio of Legionaries attacking an equal number of Stormcloaks. I hang back, unwilling to get caught in the crossfire, and watch with dismay as the Imperial soldiers win. They head off up the road into Falkreath Hold, and I loot the bodies they leave before continuing my journey.

Dodging a giant wandering with a painted cow at the crossroad, we also pass a mercenary and a pair of farmers before another couple of wolves attack us. Skinning their corpses doesn't take long, and straightening from my task, I pull out a little food from my bag to eat while making my way towards the central city.

Reaching the great wooden gates of Whiterun, we pass through into the quiet city and stop at the various shops, selling them the various wares that they specialise in so as to get the best prices. Soon, my bag is empty of loot, and I lead Lydia back out of the city and continue along the road and across the bridge. We soon reach the goat track across the north-eastern arm of the Throat of the World, but before we have travelled very far along it we come across a horse, standing over the body of a man wearing the armour of a bandit.

I consider taking the horse, but it would be unfair to expect Lydia to run alongside while I ride, so instead, I give it a pat on the neck before continuing along the path etched into the snow. Descending back below the snowline, I notice what seems to be the remains of a tollbooth. Exploring the scattered bricks, I find a book and a lockbox hidden beneath a basket, containing a little gold.

We find Ivarstead to be much as we left it, and the journey up the Steps is as quiet as our previous trip a couple of days ago. We soon reach the cold stone of High Hrothgar. Inside, we find Arngeir sitting in one of the stone chairs. He raises his head as we approach.

"Sky above, Voice within." He greets us.

Bowing my head in response, I get straight to the point. "I need to learn the Shout used to defeat Alduin."

Arngeir's face darkens. "Where did you learn of that? Who have you been talking to?"

"The Blades helped me find out about it."

"The Blades! Of course. They specialise in meddling in matters they barely understand. Their reckless arrogance knows no bounds. They have always sought to turn the Dragonborn from the path of wisdom. Have you learned nothing from us? Would you simply be a tool in the hands of the Blades to be used for their own purposes?"

"The Blades are helping me; I'm not their puppet!" I snap back.

"No, no; of course not – forgive me, Dragonborn, I have been intemperate with you. But heed my warning – the Blades may say they serve the Dragonborn, but they do not. They never have."

"So can you teach me this Shout?" I ask again.

"No." Answers the Greybeard. "I cannot teach it to you because I do not know it. It is called 'Dragonrend', but its Words of Power are unknown to us. We do not regret this loss. Dragonrend holds no place within the Way of the Voice."

"If the Shout is lost, how can I defeat Alduin?" It seems it is hopeless after all, then.

"Only Paarthurnax, the master of our order, can answer that question, if he so chooses." Arngeir says. Paarthurnax – that sounds a hell of a lot like a dragon's name.

"I need to speak to Paarthurnax, then."

"You weren't ready. You still aren't ready. But, thanks to the Blades, you now have questions that only Paarthurnax can answer." Arngeir is stalling.

"Who is Paarthurnax?" Lydia asks.

"He is our leader. He surpasses us all in his mastery of the Way of the Voice." That answers nothing.

"Why haven't I met Paarthurnax yet?" Maybe he's just a human using an alias to sound more dangerous. Unlikely though, knowing this place.

"He lives in seclusion on the very peak of the mountain. He speaks to us only rarely, and never to outsiders. Being allowed to see him is a great privilege."

"How do I get to the top of the mountain to see him?"

"Only those whose Voice is strong can find the path. Come – we will teach you a Shout to open the way to Paarthurnax." With that, Arngeir rises from his seat and leads us into the courtyard, over to the brazier at the far end, near the steps up to a stone archway. The archway is blocked by a magical wind, and I can see large flecks of ice dashing through the fierce air.

"The path to Paarthurnax lies through this gate." Arngeir says as he and the other Greybeards, who had also followed us out, encircled the fire. "I will show you how to open the way." He mutters three Words into the stone floor. Standing on each one I learn the Words – 'Lok', 'Vah' and 'Koor'.

"I will grant you my understanding of Clear Skies. This is your final gift from us, Dragonborn. Use it well." Arngeir continues, bowing as the knowledge flows from him and into me, warming me to the bone and washing away the cold of the mountainside. Now I know how this Shout can shoo away the clouds, baring the sun to cast its pure light.

"Clear Skies will blow away the mist, but only for a time." Arngeir informs me as I prepare for my journey up to the frozen summit of the lofty mountain. "The path to Paarthurnax is perilous; not to be embarked on lightly. Keep moving, stay focused on your goal, and you will reach the summit." The Greybeards began to disperse.

Climbing to the top of the stairs, I take a deep breath.

"Lok Vah Koor!" I Shout into the wind, and stumble as the force of my Shout blasts the wind away. Beyond, the rocky mountain trail is also cleared, for some of the way at least, of the grey mist barring our view of the path. Looks like I'm going to be doing a lot of Shouting along this trek.

A little way along, we find a silver vein peeking through the snow. I mine a little of it before the mist returns, then continue our loud journey – until we are attacked by a flying snake-like creature made of ice. An ice wraith! These things are notoriously difficult to dispose of. My orcish sword in one hand and a healing spell in the other, I dive into the fray, swinging at the undulating creature as it swoops in to attack with its razor-sharp icicle-teeth.

After taking many hits, and quite a few myself, the ice wraith finally melts into a viscous blue puddle at my feet, with only its teeth remaining solid, sticking out of the middle of the goo. Collecting some of the goo into one of the potion bottles I'd emptied during our fight and the teeth, we continue down the path – and soon after encounter another ice wraith. Dammit!

After what feels like hours, the wraith forms another puddle, and Lydia and I are healing our wounds as we stumble on. Another Shout reveals an orichalcum vein, which I mine a little before continuing on, the sun finally sinking below the western mountains. We haven't climbed much farther after the sky darkens completely when yet another ice wraith twists up from the frozen earth. Sighing, I ready my weapon and prepare to fight again. Gods, my arms are tired.

Leaving the puddle of ice wraith behind, we soon come to the end of our trek – at another gate like the one at High Hrothgar. Shouting through this one, we enter a flat area with a broken Word Wall at one end and the rocky peak at the other. Lydia jumps and almost draws her bow when, with a great roar, a tattered golden dragon flies overhead and lands on the small plateau in front of us. I was right – Paarthurnax is a dragon's name.

"Drem yol lok. Greetings, wunduniik. I am Paarthurnax." The great old creature greets us in its deep rumbling voice. "Who are you? What brings you to my strunmah – my mountain?"

"I think you already know who I am." I respond. I'm too cold and tired to talk for long, but I sense that this will not be a short conversation.

"Yes. Vahzah. You speak true, Dovahkiin. Forgive me. It has been long since I held tinvaak with a stranger. I gave in to the temptation to prolong our speech."

"I need to learn the Dragonrend Shout. Can you teach me?"

"Drem. Patience. There are formalities which must be observed at the first meeting of two of the dov." I'm beginning to think that I'll never learn this darned Shout. "By long tradition, the elder speaks first. Hear my Thu'um! Feel it in your bones! Match it, if you are Dovahkiin!" Paarthurnax turns towards the broken Wall and Shouts at the stone, a great bout of flame leaving behind an etched Word. Approaching curiously, I discover the Word to be 'Yol'. Fire.

"A gift, Dovahkiin." Growls Paarthurnax behind me. "Yol. Understand fire as the dov do." The ancient dragon gives me his knowledge of the Word, teaching me how to burn my enemies to cinders in one violent breath. "Now, show me what you can do. Greet me not as elf, but as dovah!"

He seems to expect me to use it on him! Oh well, it can't do the great beast much harm.

"Yol!" A small blast of fire shimmers across the dragon's scaly hide for a couple of seconds, and Paarthurnax seems to grin, flashing blunted teeth.

"Ah, yes! Sossedov los mul. The Dragon Blood runs strong in you. It is long since I had the pleasure of speech with one of my own kind." He takes off, flying briefly to land on the top of the broken arm of the Word Wall. "So, you have made your way here, to me. No easy task for a joor – a mortal. Even for one of the Dovah Sos – Dragon Blood. What would you ask of me?"

Does everyone in this frozen place have short term amnesia? "Can you teach me the Dragonrend Shout?"

"Ah, I have expected you. Prodah. You would not come all this way for tinvaak with an old dovah. No; you seek your weapon against Alduin." For Gods' sake!

"How did you know I came for Dragonrend?" I force myself to be patient.

"Alduin komeyt tiid. What else would you seek? Alduin and Dovahkiin return together. But, I do not know the Thu'um you seek. Krosis – it cannot be known to me. Your kind – joorre – mortals – created it as a weapon against the dov – the dragons. Our hadrimme, our minds cannot even...comprehend its concepts." Paarthurnax replies regretfully.

"How can I learn it then?"

"Drem. All in good time. First, a question for you – why do you want to learn this Thu'um?"

"I like this world. I don't want it to end." Not to mention the thought of an apocalypse frightens me to the core. I've already lived twice through what felt like one; I don't want to see the real thing.

"Pruzah. As good a reason as any. There are many who feel as you do, although not all. Some would say that all things must end so that the next can come to pass." Paarthurnax theorises. "Perhaps this world is simply the egg of the next kalpa? Lein vokiin? Would you stop the next world from being born?"

"The next world will have to take care of itself." I respond.

"Paaz; a fair answer. Ro fus... maybe you only balance the forces that work to quicken the end of this world. Even we who ride the currents of Time cannot see past time's end. Wuldsetiid los tahrodiis. Those who try to hasten the end may delay it; those who work to delay the end may bring it closer. But you have indulged my weakness for speech long enough. Krosis. Now I will answer your question. Hmm... do you know why I live here, at the peak of the Monahven – what you name Throat of the World?"

"No...dragons like mountains, right?"

"True." Paarthurnax agrees. "But few now remember that this was the very spot where Alduin was defeated by the ancient Tongues. Vahrukt Unslaad – perhaps none but me now remember how he was defeated."

"Using the Dragonrend Shout, right?" I say, knowing in my heart that that isn't the whole answer. Things are never easy.

"Yes and no. Viik nuz nii kron. Alduin was not truly defeated, either." Knew it. "If he was, you would not be here today seeking to... defeat him. The Nords of those days used the Dragonrend Shout to cripple Alduin. But this was not enough. Ok mulaag unslaad. It was the Kel – the Elder Scroll. They used it to... cast him adrift on the currents of Time."

"Are you saying the ancient Nords sent Alduin forward in time?" So this mess is their fault.

"Not intentionally." Paarthurnax rumbles. "Some hoped he would be gone forever; forever lost. Meyye. I knew better. Tiid bo amativ. Time flows ever onward. One cay he would surface; which is why I have lived here, for thousands of mortal years I have waited. I knew where he would emerge, but not when."

"How does any of this help me?" I ask, a little irritated now, not to mention frozen. I wiggle my toes in my boots and flex my fingers, hoping I don't get frostbite.

"Tiid krent. Time was... shattered here because of what the ancient Nords did to Alduin. If you brought that Kel – that Elder Scroll back here to the Tiid Ahraan, the Time-Wound...with the Elder Scroll that was used to break time, you may be able to... cast yourself back to the other end of the break. You could learn Dragonrend from those who created it."

An Elder Scroll! Does this mean I have to go all the way to the Imperial City in Cyrodiil to find it? Unlikely – they were scattered somehow during the Great War. It's amazing how one little word or phrase can cause more memories to resurface. Even then, not all the Elder Scrolls were in the Imperial Library in the first place. The one Paarthurnax is referring to might not even have been rediscovered yet.

"Do you know where I can find an Elder Scroll?"

"Krosis. No. I know little of what has passed below in the long years I have lived here. You are likely better informed than I."

"Hmm... Esbern or Arngeir might have some idea." Lydia mentions. Arngeir is closer – I can ask him.

"Trust your instincts, Dovahkiin. Your blood will show you the way."

Taking my leave of the ancient dragon, I Shout our way back down the mountain trail to High Hrothgar. It's almost midnight when we reach the bronzed doors, and I am exhausted. I know I'll wake early though, no matter how late I fall asleep.

I find some beds in the opposite wing to where I entered. I ask a Greybeard, who is sitting nearby, if I can borrow one of the beds. He silently nods in assent, and I doff the more solid pieces of my armour before lying down on one of the bedroll-covered stone slabs. Sleep, thankfully, comes quickly.


	14. Heading North

The next morning, I wake to find, to my alarm, Arngeir sitting in the chair next to the bed. Oh well; saves me the effort of going to search for him.

"So... you spoke to Paarthurnax." He says in response to my greeting. "The Dragon Blood burns bright within you. Did he tell you what you wanted to know? Did he teach you the Dragonrend Shout?"

"No, but he told me how to find it." I answer, rubbing the sleep out of my eye.

"So be it. If he believes it is necessary for you to learn this, we will bow to his wisdom."

"I need the Elder Scroll the ancients used. Do you know where to find it?" I ask.

"We have never concerned ourselves with the Scrolls. The gods themselves would rightly fear to tamper with such things. As for where to find it... such blasphemies have always been the stock in trade of the mages of Winterhold. They may be able to tell you something about the Elder Scroll you seek." "With the small bow characteristic to the old monks, he wanders away.

Leaving High Hrothgar, I prepare for the long journey north to Winterhold. As Lydia and I jog down the Steps towards Ivarstead, it begins to drizzle, an almost frozen rain that seeps in through the cracks in clothing and armour. I'm not travelling in this.

"Lok Vah Koor!" I shout at the sky, and the rain stops, the clouds clearing until all I see is a bright blue sky.

I use the time travelling the snowy path to think, trying to remember more of who I am. I remember much of my youth, now – growing up in Balmora, hiding from the Daedra that came out of the Oblivion Gates just before the Third Age ended, then a few weeks later the astonishing news from Cyrodiil – the Emperor's hidden son had become the Avatar of Akatosh and ended the Crisis, closing the Gates forever. I remember, a few years later, running with my family as the Red Mountain exploded after Baar Dau came crashing down on Vivec City; the town was rebuilt a couple of years later when the land had settled again, but we never went back.

That's about where the holes in my memory start. I remember some parts – struggling in the cold in a hut outside Bruma a few years later, news of what was happening elsewhere being brought with new refugees, who soon either left or died of cold. I do recall one older fellow boasting about his baby cousin, who had gone to Windhelm and opened a cornerclub there. I'll have to see if it's still there.

We soon pass through Ivarstead, and I turn down the dirt track and follow the river down. A little way down, we encounter a pair of Imperial soldiers battling a sabre cat, another soldier lying dead next to the corpse of the prisoner they were escorting. The combined effort of the rest of the soldiers is enough to slay the beast, and I loot its corpse before continuing down the track, joining the road and following it north past another fort.

Taking the turn onto the road toward Windhelm, we pass a Khajiit dressed in rags and obviously high; his pupils were dilated so his eyes were almost completely black. He attempts to offer me something to 'refresh myself', but I jog past, not even making eye contact. At Mixwater Mill, I'm stopped by a courier, explaining that he had a note for me from an unidentified person. Thanking him, I read through the note as I continue down the road.

Lethandhrel One-Eye, You caused a bit of a stir at the Throat of the World when you demonstrated the power of your Thu'um. Not everyone is anxious for the return of the Dragonborn. I for one desire to see you grow and develop your talents. Skyrim needs a true hero these days. You should turn your attention to Autumnwatch Tower. I understand it holds a mysterious source of power that can only be unlocked by the Dragonborn. Sincerely, a Friend.

Well, that's certainly something to think about. My map says that Autumnwatch is far south of here, at the feet of the Jerall Mountains. I wonder who this 'friend' is. Oh well.

I decide to stop off in Windhelm to settle my curiosity over the cornerclub, and maybe to sell some of my excess baggage. I cross the bridge and pass through the great doors, heading towards the eastern side of the city, where all the Dunmer live. As I pass another giant gate leading to the docks, I'm stopped by a small girl with a basket of blooms.

"Hi, lady! Would you like to buy some flowers? Please?" The girl obviously has nothing.

"Sure! What do you have?" She proudly proffers the basket, and I buy them all. Hopefully, she can use the money to buy herself some food, so long as some selfish pickpocket leaves her alone.

I wander down the narrow street and discover what I was looking for. The New Gnisis Cornerclub. So that man's cousin was relatively successful, at least with the elves in the city. I duck inside.

It's actually quite bare, but seeing how the Dark Elves are treated in the city, it's to be expected, really. Walking up to the bar, I hear a familiar voice.

"Oh, it's you! I didn't expect to see you again." I turn to find the owner of the voice sat at the bar.

"Malborn, it's good to see you." I greet him.

"Trying to stay ahead of the Thalmor assassins. I'm not a hero like you – I don't stand a chance!" Oh dear.

"What are you doing here?" I ask him. I thought he'd be well on his way by now.

"Trying to stay alive!" He responds, almost hysterically. "I think time's running out though. I'm pretty sure the Thalmor know where I am. Maybe you can help me. You know, by way of making amends for getting me into this mess."

"You helped me. I'll do what I can to help you."

"You will? Really? Well, ok, here's the situation. I was trying to get to Morrowind. The Dunmer don't care much for the Thalmor and I figured I'd be safe there. As safe as anywhere, that is. But there's a Khajiit hanging around the main gate. I didn't like the way he was looking at me. I'm sure he's Thalmor; just waiting for me to leave so he can follow me and kill me in a lonely place."

"Don't worry." I assure him. "I'll take care of this assassin for you."

"You'd be saving my life – again. I know I probably seemed ungrateful; I've just been so scared. Expecting a knife at my throat any minute."

I leave the city, searching for the cat Malborn mentioned, and find that a Khajiit caravan has set up next to the stables. I head towards the seated merchant.

"I welcome you, friend. I am Ma'dran. How may I serve you?"

"I have a few things I need to get rid of..." taking the opportunity, I sell all the things I don't need and purchase a couple of potions to top up my supply. "Also, I'm looking for a Khajiit; might be a Thalmor spy?"

"Ah, you must be speaking of J'datharr. He was already here when we set up. That is him over there." Thanking the fellow, I wander over to the grey figure he'd indicated.

"Move on, friend. I have nothing to sell today." The cat tries to dismiss me.

"Malborn has a message for you." I inform him.

"Malborn? Ah, very good. I think we understand each other." With that, he draws his dagger and attacks me. If he hadn't, he might have stayed hidden, the fool.

The other Khajiit take absolutely no notice whatsoever, but it is still an easy fight, since the assassin is un-armoured and I have Lydia to help me.

Rummaging through the dead Khajiit's satchel, I find a couple of poisons and an incriminating note.

Description of target: Bosmer male, goes by Malborn. Believed to be working for the Blades, so approach with caution. He has inside knowledge of our procedures, so he will be warier than usual. Malborn is not his real name – he's now been identified as a survivor of a family of traitors who were all believed to have died in a fire in Falinesti. Do not risk him evading us. He's likely trying to leave Skyrim. Make sure of your kill, and do not implicate us.

Re-entering the city, I find Malborn now sitting in a chair in the corner of the cornerclub.

"The Thalmor assassin is dead. It's safe to leave Windhelm." I tell him.

"That's... great news! I'd – I'd better go, right now; before they find me again. This is my chance! Thank-you! Here – I stole a lot from the Thalmor over the years. You may as well have some of it." Malborn gives me a small purse, then dashes out through the door.

I follow at a less rushed pace, and follow the road west towards where the road to Winterhold starts. A little way beyond the bridge over the river from the south we're attacked by a pair of wolves, who I Shout into the river. The force of the Shout and landing in the water is enough to kill them, and I can't be bothered to swim out to loot their bodies, so I continue along the road, across another bridge and past Anga's Mill.

In the distance, I can see Alduin hovering around what must be another dragon mound, so I hurry up the road until it comes into view. I'm in a perfect position to watch as the dirt of the mound bursts up into the air, and a dragon that Alduin addresses as Viinturuth emerges, reforms, and flies into the air ready to attack us.

I manage to get a shot off just before it gains height, and then wait until it stops, hovering and preparing a Shout, before firing more arrows at it and using my gift from Paarthurnax on it.

"Yol!" bathing the beast in a short burst of flame seems to put him off of his own Shout, and he flies off again, his wings heaving to gain momentum. The fight goes on in much the same way, until Viinturuth finally gives up on his aerial assault and lands heavily in front of us. Drawing my warhammer, Lydia continues shooting at him from behind me as I whack at his scaly face. Soon, with a great roar, Viinturuth lies dead at my feet and his soul is warming me while his flesh burns away.

After retrieving my spent arrows and collecting a couple of the dragon's knucklebones, we continue along the road, turning up the cobblestones along the road to Winterhold. After about an hour of jogging, the road twists around a fort; I can see the shapes of a couple of skeletons pacing along the walls. I hate undead almost as much as I hate spiders.

I manage to shoot down one bony figure before being spotted by its companion – and the people responsible for the abominations. The necromancers are harder to dispose of than their raised minions, but soon also decorate the courtyard. The welcome sign, hanging crookedly from hooks in the wall next to what was the main entrance, declare that we have come to Fort Kastav. The fort is nothing but a prison and a commander's quarters, which means that clearing it out of valuables and necromancers is a quick, relatively easy job.

Since I've picked up several alchemical ingredients, I experiment with them at the alchemy table in a hut outside. I manage to create a couple of potions, and even a poison. Giving up after several failures in a row, we continue along the road, slaying a mad Breton, a couple of wolves and a sabre cat on the way. Night has fallen by the time we reach what little remains of what was once the great city of Winterhold. Ducking into the Frozen Hearth, I rent a room for the night. I'll sell my gains and visit the mages at their famous College in the morning.


	15. Alftand

No sooner have we left the inn, than two strangely dressed figures approach us. They are so shrouded in their orange robes that I cannot tell their gender, and their race is hidden by the rather scary masks they wear.

"You there!" One cries out to me in the accents of Morrowind. "You're the one they call Dragonborn?"

"Yes, I am Dragonborn." I answer guardedly.

"Your lies fall on deaf ears, Deceiver. The True Dragonborn comes. When Lord Miraak appears, all shall bear witness. None shall stand to oppose him!" With that, the pair ready their spells and attack us.

Luckily, the town guards assist in defending our lives, and soon the pair adorn the snowy ground, in small pools of their own quickly-cooling blood. On the body of one, I find a rather interesting note.

Board the vessel 'Northern Maiden' docked at Raven Rock. Take it to Windhelm, then begin your search. Kill the False Dragonborn known as Lethandhrel One-Eye before she reaches Solstheim. Return with word of your success, and Miraak shall be most pleased. Well, this will be worth investigating – after I've saved the world, of course.

I walk towards the great bridge leading across the chasm to the College of Winterhold, and am stopped by a fair Altmer.

"Cross the bridge at your own peril!" She warns us. "The way is dangerous, and the gate will not open. You shall not gain entry!"

"Why are you out here?" I ask – the cold climate cannot be comfortable!

"I am here to assist those seeking the wisdom of the College. And if, in the process, my presence helps deter those who might seek to do harm, so be it. The more important question is: why are you here?"

"May I enter the College?" I inquire, already anticipating a negative response.

"Perhaps. But what is it you expect to find within?" Better than an outright no.

I don't think she'd believe me if I asked for an Elder Scroll. "I want to unravel the mysteries of Aetherius."

"Ah, the immortal plane. It is said to be the source of all magic. This is a noble goal, indeed. It would seem that the College has what you seek. The question now is what you can offer the College." This sounds more like recruitment now – maybe I should have told the truth after all. Oh well.

"Not just anyone is allowed inside." The elf continues. "Those wishing to enter must show some degree of skill with magic. A small test, if you will."

"I'll take your test then."

The woman smiles. "Excellent. The 'Magelight' spell is useful to any mage, not just those specialising in Alteration. Can you cast one of the seal on the ground?"

"I don't know that spell."

"No? Well, if you think you're capable of it, then I'd be happy to provide it to you for a mere 30 gold. Or you can try your luck with one of the court wizards around Skyrim. They also sell spells."

"Ok, this is for the spell." I count 30 gold pieces into a spare coin-purse and give it to the mage.

"Here you are – now I'm anxious to see you cast it."

Preparing the spell, I take a couple of steps back and aim at the stylised eye set into the floor a couple of feet ahead of me. When I cast, a small globe of light springs forth, darts into the pupil of the eye, and sticks there as though glued.

"Well done indeed. I am Faralda. I think you'll be a superb addition to the College. Welcome, apprentice." It seems I've now enrolled at the College of Winterhold. Oops.

"I'll lead you across the bridge." Faralda continues. "Once you're inside, you'll want to speak with Mirabelle Ervine, our Master Wizard. Please, follow me." She heads off up the ramp onto the bridge, then pauses to cast a spell at what seems to be a well in the centre of a turn. When the magic hits the stonework, a spout of blue mist-like stuff spouts from inside. As we continue along the bridge, the Altmer does this at two other wells, with the same results. At one point along the bridge, there isn't much of the floor left, as most of it has fallen away – most likely in the same storm that sank the rest of the city.

At the other end, the great iron gates into the College courtyard open by themselves, and Faralda heads back towards the bridge entrance. As I cross the courtyard, round a well of a strange viscous blue fluid and a statue of a great robed magician, I encounter a Breton arguing with someone who can only be Thalmor.

"I believe I've made myself rather clear." She is saying as Lydia and I draw near.

"Yes, of course. I'm simply trying to understand the reasoning behind the decision." The High Elf responds. Definitely Thalmor – no-one else could possibly have such a stuck-up tone of voice.

"You may be used to the Empire bowing to your every whim, but I'm afraid you'll find the Thalmor receive no such treatment here." What the Breton, whom I assume to be Mirabelle Ervine, says merely confirms it. "You are a guest of the College; here at the pleasure of the Arch-Mage. I hope you appreciate the opportunity."

"Yes, of course. The Arch-Mage has my thanks."

"Very good. Then we're done here." The Master Wizard dismisses him.

The elf stalks off, and Mirabelle opens a book, reading where she stands in the icy wind. Skirting past, I push open the giant wooden doors and enter the relative warm of the interior of the College.

A door to my right points the way to the Arcaneum, where I guess I'll have to go if I want any information on the Scrolls, if not the actual thing.

Beyond the door and up the stairs, we enter a large circular room lined with shelves. At the far end behind a counter, sits an Orc. A very rare sight indeed, an Orsimer librarian.

"You are now in the Arcaneum, of which I, Urag gro-Shub, am in charge. It might as well be my own little plane of Oblivion. Disrupt my Arcaneum, and I will have you torn apart by angry Atronachs." Was that a joke? I hope it was... "Now, do you require assistance?"

"I'm looking for an Elder Scroll." I inform him.

"And what do you plan to do with it? Do you even know what you're asking about, or are you just someone's errand girl?"

"Of course I do. Do you have one here?" Too much to hope for.

"You think that even if I did have one here, I would let you see it?" Urag scoffs. "It would be kept under the highest security; the greatest thief on the world wouldn't be able to lay a finger on it."

Obviously the people of 4E 201 have forgotten about the thief who broke into the Imperial Palace in Cyrodiil and stole one way back in 3E 433.

"Do you at least have any information on them?" I ask.

"Of course. I'll bring you everything we have on them, but it's not much. So don't get your hopes up – it's mostly lies, leavened with rumour and conjecture." He rose, wandered over to a shelf and reached down two books, placing them on the countertop in front of me. "Here you go. Try not to spill anything on them." With that last gruff warning, he retires to a chair and begins munching on a hunk of bread.

I look at the titles in front of me – 'Effects of the Elder Scrolls' and 'Ruminations on the Elder Scrolls'. I flick through the first without finding out much more than the effects long study of the Scrolls can have on one's eyesight, but the second... it is impossible to understand!

I wander up to the librarian.

"This 'Ruminations' book is incomprehensible!"

"Aye, that's the work of Septimus Signus. He's the world's master on the nature of Elder Scrolls, but... well... he's been gone a long while. Too long." The way he phrased that doesn't suggest that he's dead.

"Where did he go?" I ask.

"Somewhere up north in the ice fields." Explains Urag. "Said he found some old Dwemer artefact but... well, that was years ago. Haven't heard from him since."

Leaving the Orc to his bread, we leave the College and head back across the bridge. The shop should be open by now, so I head over and try the door. The entrance to Birna's Oddments is open, so we head inside and I sell off all the excess items I'd picked up, giving the things I wanted to keep to Lydia to take care of for now.

Back outside, I find a trail heading north, down the slope of the cliff. By the looks of it, we're going to have to swim. Damn. At least there are several large ice sheets floating around that we can hop across, at least for part of the way. I'm not entirely sure where we're going, but it'll be big enough for at least a small camp.

By the gods this water is cold. I hope we don't have to go too far – this water will kill us if we stay in it for too long.

We soon reach an iceberg to which is tethered a small boat, and a couple of planks cover a tunnel dug into the ice. And not a moment too soon, either – I could feel the last of my strength draining from my arms as I pulled those last few strokes. I duck inside as quickly as possible and cast a healing spell to fix any damage that might have been done by the cold.

After a couple of twists in the tunnel, we enter a large cavern dominated by a great Dwemer box. Around the base wanders a blue-robed man. That must be Septimus Signus. I don't hold great hopes for his sanity; I'll just have to hope that I can comprehend whatever he tries to tell me.

"When the top level was built, no more could be placed. It was, and is, the maximal apex." The man burbles when we approach him. Yep – just as crazy as I thought.

"I heard you know about Elder Scrolls." I say, hoping he at least still understands what other people say to him.

"Elder Scrolls, indeed. The Empire absconded with them; or so they think. The ones they saw. The ones they thought they saw!" Glad that Septimus understands, I let him ramble on. "I know of one. Forgotten; sequestered. But I cannot go to it, for I... I have arisen beyond its grasp."

"So where is the Scroll?"

"Here! Well, here as in this plane. Mundus. Tamriel. Nearby, relatively speaking. On the cosmological scale, it's all nearby."

"Can you help me get the Elder Scroll or not?" I'm beginning to lose patience with this fellow.

"One block lifts the other! Septimus will give what you want, but you must bring him something in return."

"What do you want?" I ask, exasperatedly.

"You see this masterwork of the Dwemer?" Hard not to. "Deep inside their greatest knowings. Septimus is clever among men, but he is but an idiot child compared to the dullest of the Dwemer. Lucky then they left behind their own way of reading the Elder Scrolls. In the depths of Blackreach one yet lies. Have you heard of Blackreach? 'Cast upon where Dwemer cities slept, the yearning spire hidden learnings kept'."

"Where is this 'Blackreach'?" Lydia asks behind me.

"Under deep, below the dark; the hidden keep, Tower Mzark." Great, now he's speaking in rhyme. We're not even going in circles here – it's more of a zigzag. "Alftand – the point of puncture, of first entry, of the tapping. Delve to its limits, and Blackreach lies just beyond. But not all can enter there. Only Septimus knows the hidden hey to loose the lock to jump beneath the deathly rock."

"How do I get in?"

"Two things I have for you. Two shapes – one edged, one round. The round one, for tuning. Dwemer music is soft and subtle, and needed to open their cleverest gates. The edged lexicon, for inscribing. To us, a hunk of metal; to the Dwemer, a full library of knowings. But... empty. Find Mzark and its sky dome. The machinations there will read the Scroll and lay the lore upon the cube. Trust Septimus – he knows you can know." Having said that, the mad scholar wanders away.

Climbing up the ramp and out of the little outpost, I dread the freezing swim across the northern waters – I've only just thawed out from the first time. Still, we're going to have to if we want to get to Alftand. I swim as fast as I can, and we soon reach the mainland again, casting the healing spell again to warm myself up. We haven't got far from the shore, however, when we encounter a sabre cat that has recently killed an Imperial soldier. His squad mates must have legged it, as I don't see them or their bodies nearby. After dealing with the aggressive beast, I take the dead man's gold and head towards a promising looking crevasse. Inside, there is the lower opening of a Dwemer tower – maybe this'll lead me to Alftand.

Inside it is dark and snowy, the stonework chipped; but the defence system still works – as we pass a pipe sticking out of the wall a mechanical spider leaps out and whacks at us with its pincers. We encounter several others as we climb through the tower, along with a Dwemer Sphere; a robotic warrior that rolls around, hitting hard with a metal blade attached to one of its arms. On the remains of the creations, we find various soul gems and ores, which I add to the ones I take from the many shelves dotted throughout the ruin. Exiting at the top, we find that the tower doesn't connect to the larger ruins I can now see looming through the icy wind. Oh well, at least now we don't have to climb a glacier.

Rounding a mound if ice encrusted snow, we discover the remains of a wooden hut and a tent, inside which lies a desiccated corpse. Wondering what happened here, I venture into the hut and find, in front of a locked chest, a notebook labelled 'expedition manifest'.

We've managed to secure the site and hold off any others who may try to steal our discoveries so far, especially those from the College of Winterhold, who seem to think the glory of exploring every ruin should be theirs alone. I read. The crew for our expedition is as follows: Sulla Trebatius (myself) – Expedition leader, Umana – my constant companion and bodyguard, Valie – a mage not associated with Winterhold (took some time to find), Endrast – a fellow explorer of some local renown, Yag – a great brute of a woman, hired to keep the rest of the labour in check, J'darr and J'zhar – two Khajiit brothers, hired as labour. Need a couple more labourers; getting through the ice is proving difficult. We've set up shelter and scouted the area. The small ruins on the lower plateau of the glacier don't seem connected to the main structure and we haven't managed to find a way into the tower parapet we've found here. Yag mentioned spotting a fissure in the glacial wall that may lead into the ruins so we are going to try to find a way to get down there with the gear. Looks like a storm is coming. That might explain the body in the tent – though why someone would have stayed out here rather than go into the fissure like the rest of them must have done, I have no idea.

Following a wooden walkway, we soon find the fissure mentioned in the manifest. Drawing my bow, we sneak inside – who knows what we'll find in here. A little way in, we find a journal, the name 'Sulla' pressed into the leather cover, sitting atop a barrel. I'm curious as to what happened to these storm-caught explorers.

We tried to get through the glacier at the top, but we couldn't find any way into that tower parapet. Yag spotted a fissure in the glacial wall and construction of a catwalk was finished just in time for a storm to hit. At first we thought to wait it out, but it has only gotten worse. A shift in the glacier took out several of the new labourers. I ordered everyone to quickly move as much of the supplies as we could into the fissure and we managed to get most of it. One of the hands decided he wasn't going to listen and tried to make it out through the storm, but got blown off of the catwalk by the wind. Looks like we are well and truly stuck in here. But for all that I feel even more driven that I should be the one to uncover the mysteries of this ruin. I'm tired of all the credit for my work going to the Mages or the Legion. It will be my name that goes down in the history books for this discovery. A bitter but capable man, this Sulla seems, or seemed, to be.

Continuing down the ice tunnels, the growling voice of a Khajiit echoes towards us.

"Where is it? I know you were trying to keep it for yourself, J'zhar... you always try to keep it for yourself! No! There's got to be more skooma! Shut up; shut up! Don't lie to me, J'zhar – you hid it; you always try to steal it from me!" Poor cat has gone mad from withdrawal.

The icy walls soon give way to the elaborate stonework of Dwemer walls, and we enter a medium-sized chamber with a stone table in the middle, covered with the broken remains of Dwemer spiders. A notebook holds pride of place in the middle of the table, and a trail of blood leads through a metal grating into an inaccessible room. Picking up the book, I recognise the handwriting of Sulla Trebatius.

If only Umana would have left one of these Dwarven machine creatures intact for me to study. The fact that they almost killed those Khajiit brothers in the middle of the night doesn't mean we couldn't have found a way to disable one. We dragged some stuff in front of the pipes they came out of to stop them from coming back. Though personally, I don't think a couple of wicker baskets will help much. They are simply fascinating! It is just as Calcelmo described in Dwarves, v2. Their appearance does, in fact, resemble that of an arachnid. I had thought that to be an embellishment given by his source. The inclusion of the soul gem into the design of the apparatus in quite remarkable. It could explain the focus for the lightning that he describes. Oddly enough it doesn't appear to be the main power source for the apparatus. Perhaps some sort of harmonic resonance with the energies contained in the soul gem to bring heat to a small boiler? Too early to say conclusively. That does raise the question of where they get the liquid for the boiler however. Huh, that was strange. I thought I just saw something moving beyond the barred door. It looked vaguely humanoid. I wonder if it could be an undiscovered automaton? I'm going to move my bedroll down here to see if I can catch another glimpse of it. This is all so exciting! Judging by all the blood, that wasn't the best idea this fellow ever had.

As we turn to continue down the tunnels, I'm proven right by the Dwemer spider that bursts out of the pipe and through the baskets. The machine is relatively weak, however – it only takes a couple of whacks with our swords before it falls to pieces at our feet. We are attacked by two others as we go a little further along the next corridor. The ruins give way to another ice tunnel which opens up into a small chamber – where a Khajiit is hanging around the corpse of another.

"What? Who is this, brother?" It says when it sees us. "Another of the smooth-skins looking for food? But this one wasn't trapped with us... No, no! You must be the one who took my skooma!" With that, he picks up an axe meant for cutting wood an swings wildly at us. Poor cat doesn't last long.

Near the body of his brother, the unfortunate J'zhar, I find another journal.

This one is at his wit's end. I signed J'darr and myself up for this expedition to try to get him clean of the skooma. I brought a small supply to try to bring him down slowly, but the storm has had us trapped in the glacier for weeks. The others have not yet caught on that one with fur should not shake so much from the cold, but I've run out of the little skooma I brought and J'darr is getting pretty bad. He's started hallucinating creatures coming out of the ice and the ruins; the others are starting to think he may be behind Valie's disappearance, but I know he would never do something like that. Something horrible happened to these poor people after that storm. It reminds me of the stories I heard when I was younger, of goblins stealing away unwary travellers. But they also said goblins can't stand the cold, so if those tales were true, they're unlikely to be the cause of these poor people's demise.

After picking up the potions lying around the bloodied camp, we continue along the tunnels and passageways. Where the now-stonework passage joins onto another, I find a table, scattered with more spider parts and yet another journal, this one with 'UMANA' scrawled on the first page.

It's been about a week since Valie went missing and now Endrast is gone too. We found blood leading over to barred off doorway, but Sulla seems to think that they found a way through and that they are trying to cut him out of the discovery. He keeps saying that we need to press on. We've managed to break through into another section of the ruins, an 'Animonculory', where the dwarves would produce their automatons. We learned the hard way that the metal creatures are still alive in there and it hasn't improved Yag's mood at all. She holds that the Khajiit brothers aren't involved with the disappearances and has been keeping a hard eye on Sulla. The rations have all but run out and we are going to have to decide soon whether to brave the storm or try to push further into the ruins. I don't know if the echoes of screams I've heard in my sleep are those of our missing comrades, or my own nightmares.

I really feel sorry for those poor people. I hope, if they are dead, that they died quickly. Well, must press on.

We soon enter a large chamber, the floor half-covered in oil and pistons pumping into the air. I use my Fire Breath to set off the oil, causing a Dwemer sphere to come out of a pipe in the wall and attack us through the flames. These things are tougher than the spiders, but Lydia and my combined efforts soon reduce it to a pile of parts. Looking around as I catch my breath, I see a pair of chests on a high ledge, and after a closer inspection of the pistons, I realise I can use them as stepping stones to get there. Hopping from piston to piston, I reach the ledge easily. The chests turn out not to hold much of interest, but I do find a couple of handy potions and a couple of metal ingots on a shelf between them.

Jumping back down, we pause again at the entrance of the next corridor. The air inside is shimmering strangely, so as an experiment I Shout down it – and the air explodes into flame for a few seconds, and the shimmering is gone. It must have been gas leaked from a broken light or somewhere.

Passing through, we enter another oily-floored room. Upon our entry, three metal spiders leap out of the pipes lining the walls. I ignite the oil to give us an edge against them – the fire doesn't do much damage, but it does help a little. Lydia, of course, rushes straight into the flames to whack at the machines. I swear, sometimes she seems as smart as a mudcrab.

The things are soon dealt with, and so I cross the room and pick the lock on a gate leading into a side room with a pair of chests that thankfully hold better rewards than the ones on the ledge. Through a more solid door, we enter a corridor lined with the remains of several side rooms, only one of which is still intact. The only loot left though is a couple of potions for which I have no immediate need.

The passage leads to a ledge around the room with the pistons. The narrow walkway is lined with more pistons, lying horizontally so that if I were in the wrong place at the wrong time I would be pushed off and down into the main room below. I choose instead to jump over the metal machines, getting about halfway along before a pair of Dwemer spiders leap out of unseen pipes in the wall to attack us.

Lydia, in her eagerness to fight, gets pushed over the edge by the pistons, so I am left to deal with the annoying machines on my own while she runs back through the ruins to catch up. Good thing that these things are so weak.

After I've finished dealing with the spiders and dodging the last couple of pistons, I reach a solid door. I pause here to wait for Lydia to catch back up to me, and to have a short rest. If anyone had told me when I was younger that I would be trawling through a Dwemer ruin searching for an Elder Scroll so I could learn a Shout that would help me stop the end of the world, I would've laughed at them.

I hear the sound of footsteps, and looking up I spot Lydia dodging the pistons. As she passes the last one, I push open the door and pass through.

A short corridor leads into a rectangular room, the main area raised above what seems to be a short passageway. I take advantage of the fact that the nearby Dwemer spider's ignorance of us to dispose of it first, then walk along the under-passage, to find it's a dead end – with the corpse of a Bosmer lying next to a chest and a journal.

The eyeless creatures took us in our sleep. I don't know what happened to the Khajiit brothers; we never saw them in the cell. I managed to pick the lock and we made a break for it, but got split up. Sulla yelled something about not leaving without finding what he came here for and Umana chased after him. Yag and I tried for the top of the cave shaft, but one of the ramps was broken. Without a hesitation, she grabbed me by the scruff of my tunic, threw me atop the ledge and told me to run. And I did. I didn't even look back; I just ran like a coward. I could hear her fighting them and I just had to get away. I didn't even notice the arrow in my shoulder till I hid here. Those metal creatures are still all around me and I'm too terrified to even move. Eight Divines, please just take me now.

Poor man. I take the lockpicks that were lying on top of the journal and use them to unlock the chest he was near. Ironically, one of the items inside is a healing potion. Lydia and I back out of the passage and take the steps up to the main part of the room. No sooner have we reached the top of the stairs than a Dwemer sphere attacks us. Its metal blades still do quite a bit of damage, but it's not enough to stop us.

The sloped corridor we encounter next is bisected by a deep furrow. The pressure plates lining it just shout trap, so I walk along the furrow to avoid treading on them. After reaching the top of the slope safely, I turn and make sure Lydia doesn't set the trap off herself, but she simply follows my lead.

The way forward is blocked by sturdy metal bars, but after I pull a nearby lever, they descend into the floor allowing us access to the large deep cavern ahead. A nearby ramp leads down into the dusty gloom. Following the path and destroying a metal spider in its attempt on our lives, we come across the fallen ramp mentioned in the dead elf's diary. There is a door behind us, leading into a room with an ornate chest lying behind a solidly locked gate. It takes a little effort, but I soon get the gate open. Next to the chest is a skeleton clutching a book about locks, which I take before fiddling with the chest to get at the contents – which prove to be a small collection of potions, a reasonable amount of gold and a mace.

Leaving the treasure room, I jump down the ledge and almost land on top of the body of an Orc – this must be the remains of Yag. Around her are a couple of potions and several arrows, which are the same as the arrows I saw at the ambushed cart near Dragon Bridge. Following the unbroken ramp toward the bottom of the cavern, a strange, bent white figure appears around the corner, wearing armour that seems to be made from the same material used to construct the arrows. The thing gurgles a strangled cry and leaps towards us, even though the creature is blind – its eyelids are tight shut; they look like they've never even been opened. Another flashback hits me as we defeat the unfortunate creature – reading a book about the fate of the Falmer; how the Dwemer tricked them when they asked for protection against the ancient Nords and were poisoned and used as slaves, how they rebelled against the Dwemer and how they would forever be blind because of the effects of the diet the Dwemer had forced upon them. Poor creatures – I cannot help but pity them.

Descending the ramp, along with what must be Falmer, we encounter a couple of skeevers. A little way further on, the ramp straightens out to cross the cave towards a door. The only problem is a spout of flame coming from a pipe above the door almost blocking the way. Every so often, though, the fire stops, so taking the next opportunity, I dash through and push the door open. Lydia follows just before the spurting flame starts again.

The room we have just entered has an alchemy lab in one corner, and two Falmer roaming around the main area at the bottom of a short flight of stairs. I manage to shoot one of them before they notice us – I may feel sorry for them, but that won't stop me from defeating them before they kill us. The other one charges up the stairs towards us, raising its sword – and immediately takes two arrows to the face.

Once the creatures are devoid of valuables, I take the ingredients scattered around the lab and do a bit of experimenting. I succeed in making several potions that, while handy, I am unlikely to use, and a couple of poisons. After looting the shelves of the ores and ingots they hold, I sneak through into the next room, ignite an oil slick across the floor and shoot the trio of Falmer that come to investigate the noise. In this little room, there is a forge and a workbench snugged into the corner, so I try out my smithing skills and make a passable silver necklace. I haven't enough ingots for anything else, so I tuck the necklace into my satchel and continue on.

Oh gods – this next room is a torture chamber. After slaying the Falmer stalking the bloody floor, I investigate the remains of an Altmer lying on one of the stone tables. Poor thing. On a long table on the opposite wall is a large selection of ingredients, which I add to my satchel before using one of the tanning racks lined up just around the corner to turn the several hides I've picked up since Winterhold into leather strips, which are lighter than the original skins. The passageway behind me leads into the bottom of the cavern, where two Falmer and a Frostbite spider await our attention. After dealing with them, I descend one more ramp, dodging a painfully obvious trap, and push open yet another massive metal door.

I'm starting to get tired now – I wonder what the time is? Has the sun set already? Being so far underground is definitely not the most fun thing I've ever done.

The door opens into a short passage, the floor lined with pressure plates. I instinctively edge around them; but Lydia steps right onto one, and is thrown backwards into the wall by three poles swinging down from the ceiling. Catching her breath as she stumbles back onto her feet, she finally copies my example – almost running into a Falmer I hadn't noticed that was hovering around in front of the next door. I send an arrow into its chest before it can react to Lydia, the force of the almost point-blank shot sending it slithering across the floor.

Opening the door reveals a large cavernous area, half of it blocked off by a metal grate. Two Falmer are roaming the space, but not for long – Lydia and I deal with them easily, myself beginning to yawn. All this fighting is almost getting boring.

Up a set of stairs, we find a pair of Dwemer chests and a lever, which we discover opens the grating. The chests don't hold anything of much interest, so I lead my stalwart companion through the now-open archway and up a short flight of stairs.

On either side of the next space are giant metal statues; one has toppled over. Suddenly, steam gushes from gaps in the metal plating of the remaining upright one, and with a clank it steps forward. Not statues – giant robots! Gods grant me strength; this'll be a tough fight.

A couple of arrows jam into its joints, pausing it in its lengthy stride long enough for me to draw my sword and dive into the fray. I aim for the weaker points in its workings – the small cogs and springs holding the mechanical monster together, and soon with a groan it collapses in a heap; much like its former companion.

Its chest cavity is hollow; inside is a key which must go to the gate at the top of the next set of stairs, a small quiver of some fancy arrows, a couple of gems and a strange metal object, all nestled alongside what must be spare metalwork for the walls. The fallen one contains much the same.

Turns out the gate is already unlocked, and beyond it is a strange mechanism in the centre of the room, and at the other end is a Dwemer lift behind a gate. Also in this room are the two remaining members of the expedition team.

"Sulla, let's just get out of here. Hasn't there been enough death?" The woman says to the armoured man opposite her. They both have their weapons drawn.

"Oh, of course you want me to leave! Just waiting for me to turn my back, so you can have all the glory for yourself!" With that, Sulla attacks the woman, who must be his bodyguard Umana. I keep out of the way as much as possible, and soon Umana has slain Sulla – and upon seeing us, attacks! The poor woman is dead in only a couple more hits. She had a pretty good shield though, so I tuck it into my pack, then turn to the central mechanism.

The slot in the metalwork looks like it'll fit the sphere that Septimus Signus gave me, so I slot it in, and sure enough, the floor descends, becoming a set of stairs. At the bottom is another set of large metal doors, which, when pushed open, reveal the most amazing sight I've ever seen.

The cavern is huge, lit by giant glowing fungi. The ceiling is dotted with glowing blue specks – must be some sort of lichen or something. There are ore veins scattered throughout, and several ruined Dwemer buildings. I suddenly yawn so hard my eyes tear up.

The nearest Dwemer building is still intact, and sitting in front of it is a Dwemer sphere, but nearby is a ballista aimed at the machine, so I pull the lever and set it off. The great metal bolts launch as smoothly as they would have when they were first made, and explode into shrapnel, taking the sphere with them. The explosion, however, alerts a Falmer that was lurking nearby out of sight, and it rushes up the short flight of stairs towards us – and is swiftly slaughtered by Lydia.

I am exhausted now, so I head towards the building. Inside, there is a skeleton lying at the foot of the fireplace. The shelves on the right hand side of the room are full of alchemical ingredients, and the left side is dominated by a large stone bed, covered with hides. Stripping off the larger pieces of my armour, I lie down on the stone – I am not going to sleep all that well, I just know it – and eventually fall asleep.


	16. At Last, the Eder Scroll!

I was right – it's only an hour later when I awaken. I decide to spend a little more time in the little stone hut before venturing out into the giant caverns of Blackreach. Rummaging around the corpse, I find a journal stuffed with notes about crimson nirnroot, and a wish to collect at least thirty of them to experiment on. There is also mention of a helpful adventurer who aided him in collecting nirnroot in Cyrodiil – I remember one of Cousin's letters being about helping some reclusive Altmer with his alchemy... I think I've found the unfortunate remains of the poor man!

Crossing the small room as I tuck the journal into my pack alongside the others, I take all of the ingredients off of the shelf and make several potions – and twice as many poisons – at the alchemy table, before removing the enchantments off of several of the heavier magical items I picked up at the enchanting lab set beside it. There – that lightens the load, and makes more room in my bag for other things.

OK, time to brave the gloom of Blackreach. Here goes!

Taking a deep breath, I push open the door and draw my bow as we walk out into the great space, looking around and alert to any dangers that might be lurking nearby. Nothing so far...

Finding the remains of a road leading further into the enormous cave, I follow it, only to be attacked by a pair of Falmer hiding on a raised platform a little way down. I can barely see them through the murk, but I can see well enough to shoot back. Three arrows and two pained squawks later, the creatures lie dead on the stonework. After mining the nearby quicksilver vein for a little while, I continue along the faded road, only to encounter a strange beetle-like creature lurking among several glowing egg sacs. The thing, upon spotting us, spat some acidic stuff at us before charging into the fray, gnashing at us with its great mandibles. Luckily, our fight doesn't awaken the giant Dwemer machine standing nearby. Soon enough, after several hacks at the small gaps in the creature's solid carapace, it lies dead at our feet.

The rest of the journey towards the tower emerging from the gloom is relatively quiet, only disturbed by another small group of Falmer accompanied by more of the strange chitinous monsters. A couple of times we paused so I could mine the ebony vein and the geode vein we passed. Soon, we're crossing a bridge and pushing open the great metal door to the tower, revealing another lift. Pulling the lever, Lydia and I stumble as the floor rises, slowly climbing through the tower until we stop at the entrance of a reasonably large room, lined with shelves and with a fire-pit in the middle. Most of the items on the shelves are ruined books, but there are a couple of potions and several ingredients too. The next room, however, is really rather strange.

Most of the space is taken up by an enormous sphere, with a stone ramp leading up to a walkway around the strange contraption. At the top of the ramp, we find a skeleton clutching a journal at the bottom of another shorter ramp leading up to a row of buttons. Hoping the journal will give me some clue as to how to operate the giant machine – which must be what contains the Elder Scroll we're looking for – I pull it out of the bones and open it to the only used page.

I weren't never one for writing about my life. The king-priests of old deserve their stories told, but Drokt is a simple man. So this isn't no journal and I'm not telling any stories here. Full marks for grammar, this one. But this infernal machine done worked its way into my brainspace and I won't leave till it's figured out. The whole contraption just sets like a dead horker if it doesn't have the box. Putting the box in the hole made it all come to life. Five rings, but only four buttons? Most of of 'em don't work most of the time anyhows. When the lights line up, more open, but they don't seem to help. Just make another damned thing move. The old fleabag Khajiit what sold me this cube said something about 'the light through the knowledge through the machine rests on the cube.' I remember because he made me say it back at him till I wanted to throttle him. So I did. Tried to leave, but wolves to the top and them eyeless freaks outside the tower. Gotta stay here till I get it right. And I will get it right.

The box this poor man was talking about must be the cube that Septimus gave me, though how he ended up with it when it would've been in Drokt's possession when he died I don't know. I climb the short ramp and inspect the row of buttons, pulling out the cube as I do so.

The buttons are covered by little metal grates, but when I slot the cube into the pillar to the right of the buttons, two of them are uncovered. The first button does nothing, but the second makes the giant sphere shift, spinning so that round blue decorations are visible. I press the button again, and the sphere moves again, revealing a different pattern of blue circles. Pressing the button again, the sphere moves once again to show yet another pattern, and the third button is uncovered. The cube also opens up – now it is covered in little blue-glowing glyphs.

I press the third button, and three great metal arms with blue disks at the end lower out of the ceiling, focussing the light coming out of the open roof into three bright beams. Pressing the button again moves the arms until the light beams touch blue disks set into the ceiling and the fourth and final button becomes accessible.

Pressing this last button, another metal arm descends, holding a blue crystalline container, which opens to reveal the Elder Scroll inside. The cube Septimus gave me closes up again, but now it is still covered in the little glyphs. Grabbing the cube as I pass, I walk up the short ramp over the sphere and remove the Scroll from its container. Nothing more happens, so I tuck it into my pack and head towards the door set in a recess beneath the buttons. It leads to a short antechamber. The next room is merely the bottom of a lift. I wait for Lydia to catch up, then tug on the lever; the floor rises slowly and shudders to a stop at the top.

Daylight! Oh blessed daylight! I had almost forgotten what the surface world looked like. I now have an excellent view of the northern holds.

Outside is the remains of what must have been Drokt's camp. There's no sign of a road though, so I turn towards the giant mountain that dominates Skyrim's landscape and jog on. Not far from the camp we encounter a young Nord standing staring at a wolf's corpse.

"Oh, hello there. Didn't notice you come up." He says when I ask what he's doing. "I was focussing my magicka. Or at least, I thought I was. I don't really know what I'm doing."

"That's quite a staff you have there." I say, nodding at the item slung across his back.

"I used to think so too. See, my grandfather was a wizard. My father wouldn't talk about him much. But I found some of his things in the attic, including this staff. After that I thought that I was turning into a wizard too, because dead things near me would come to life again for a while. I even went to the College of Winterhold, but they just laughed at me. The magic is in the staff, not in me, they said."

"Seems like coin would be worth more to you." I offer the lad a small purse, which he takes with a shrug, unslinging the staff.

"Gold solves most problems, doesn't it?" He sighs, handing me the staff. "In fact, keep it. I must've used up the magic in the staff or something. It's just a dumb stick of wood now." With that, the lad heads off down the snowy slope.

I head off in the opposite direction, hoping to hit the road sometime soon or I'll end up totally lost. In the distance I can see Whiterun, which gives me some indication of where I am, and nearer is Loreius' farm. Spotting the road, I jog towards it, joining it a little way north of where the funny little jester still waits for his wagon to be fixed. Surely it doesn't take half a week to find some tools?

Following the road, I take a little detour and head into the city to sell all the excess stuff we'd picked up in Alftand and Blackreach. Belethor is as sleazy as always, but gladly takes all the stuff I dump onto his counter while passing over the supplies I ask for. Leaving his shop, I head back towards the gate, only to be stopped by a courier, who for some reason is wearing nothing but a hat and a loincloth.

"I've got something for you, your hands only. Let's see here... Ah yes. A note, from someone named Calcelmo, in Markarth. Looks like that's it. Got to go." He hands over the folded parchment, then dashes off towards the inn, hopefully to borrow some clothes. Not that he was that bad to look at...

Unfolding the note, I read the contents.

Lethandhrel One-Eye, it has come to my attention you may have recently acquired a certain Dwarven arrow from Belethor's General Goods. I'm not sure how such an object came to find itself resting there... but I've been trying to obtain one for my research. If you still have it, or if not, find another one, I would be most appreciative if you were to bring it to me here in Markarth. I will pay handsomely. Sincerely, Calcelmo.

How did he know? I've only just bought the things! Strange – precognition, maybe?

Tucking the note away in my bag, I leave the city and head towards Riverwood to store the items I want to keep in the chest in Delphine's hidden room. I'm gonna have to take up Balgruuf's offer of a house in Whiterun; I can't keep running off to Riverwood just to store interesting items. Not right now, though.

Passing a trio of Thalmor, I slip into the Sleeping Giant and head into what used to be Delphine's room to find the wardrobe that hid the entrance to the little room wide open. I thought I'd closed it last time I was here? Maybe I forgot. Oh well, no harm done anyway – she wouldn't have left anything behind anyway.

After stashing away my new possessions, I exit the inn and follow the road towards the Valtheim Towers. Along the way, I'm stopped by a harried looking woman wearing rags.

"Oh, thank goodness! I've been wandering alone for so long; I thought I'd never see another soul again." She pants.

"Calm down – tell me what happened."

"I was kidnapped by these bandits weeks ago." She says. "They locked me up in the towers near Mistwatch. I managed to pick the lock and slip out while the guard slept, but now I'm completely lost. Can you help me, please?"

"There's a town nearby, in that direction." I point towards Whiterun – how can she not see it? "Do you need help getting there?"

Oh, thank you, but I should be fine now that you've shown me the way. But those bandits have to be stopped! They're at Mistwatch. Here, let me show you on your map. If you can stop them you'll be a true hero!" After marking the place on my map, she dashes off along the road.

Continuing along, I find the goat track and follow it across the arm of the mountain until I reach the ruined tollbooth. This time, however, there are three glowing balls floating around it. Wisps! That must mean there is a Wispmother nearby, and those things are vicious. Sure enough, I haven't proceeded much further when the magical creature floats up out of the ground and starts flinging ice at me.

All I can do to fight back effectively is dodge the icicles that she blasts at me and shoot back as best I can while doing so. My flame-breath Shout seems to be quite effective – I do enough damage with it that the Wispmother panics and summons a pair of clones to try to distract me. It doesn't work, however, as I can tell the original apart by the arrows sticking out of it. Every so often there is an icy explosion as another wisp falls to Lydia's blade. Soon, with an explosion that echoes those of the wisps, the Wispmother falls into a gloopy puddle. I collect some of the ooze in an empty potion bottle, and the remains of the wrappings that served as clothes, then continue along the dirt track into Ivarstead. The sky is turning dark now, and the hour's sleep I had in Blackreach is catching up with a vengeance, so I enter the inn and rent a room.


	17. Attacks on Alduin

The next morning, I awaken feeling very refreshed. I was so tired I didn't even dream, which was a blessing, considering what I've been dreaming of lately. Pausing only to purchase some food from the innkeeper to eat on the way up the Steps, I step out into the fresh morning air. It looks like it's shaping up to be a beautiful day. Shame I'll be spending most of it on top of a frosty mountain.

The climb up the Seven Thousand Steps is even quieter than usual. It's too early for even the birds to sing, and we have passed too high to hear them properly when they do start. Soon we reach the great bronze doors to High Hrothgar.

Passing through, I nod to the Greybeard sat meditating in front of one of the great braziers and prepare myself for the trip up to the peak. I don't really like having to Shout all the way up the track – it is really rather draining, but I suppose it's purpose is more to serve as a warning to Paarthurnax than an actual test; in the same way one knocks on the door when visiting a friend before entering the house.

Finally we reach the top of the Throat of the World. Paarthurnax awaits our return atop a great spire of rock near the path.

"You have it – the Kel – the Elder Scroll!" He says as we draw near. "Tiid kreh... qalos. Time shudders at its touch. There is no question... you are doom-driven. Kogaan Akatosh. The very bones of the earth are at your disposal. Go then – fulfil your destiny. Take the Scroll to the Time-Wound; do not delay – Alduin will be coming. He cannot miss the signs."

Ahead of me, near the broken Word Wall, I can see a spot where the air shimmers and sparkles; objects seen through it seem fragmented. I ask Lydia to stay back – I don't want her to get half-caught in whatever is going to happen. Who knows what sort of effect that might have?

I step into the middle of the shimmer and unfurl the Scroll. With a blinding flash, I hear a whooshing noise, and when I can see again... everything has changed. I am still at the summit, but everything is tinted red; the Word Wall is intact and there are dragons everywhere.

"Gormlaith!" Comes a cry from my right. I turn and spot a young warrior running up the snowy slope. "We're running out of time! The battle –" He is cut off when a great brown dragon crashes to the ground behind him.

"Daar sul thur se Alduin vokrii." It growls. "Today, Alduin's lordship will be restored. But I honour your courage. Krif voth ahkrin. Die now; in vain."

"For Skyrim!" The warrior yells in response, attacking the dragon with his battle-axe. Just as he is about to land the killing blow, a deft blonde woman runs into the fray, leaping onto the dragon's scaly head.

"Know that Gormlaith sent you down to death!" She cries, her sword plunging between the monster's eyes. Leaping off as the great beast roared its last breath, she sheathes her bloody blade and grins at the warrior as they both start walking toward the Word Wall.

"Hakon! A glorious day, is it not?" She says.

"Have you no thought beyond the blooding of your blade?" Hakon asks, yet a smile creeps across his face upon sight of her ecstatic features.

"Ha! What else is there?"

"The battle below goes ill." Hakon says, shielding his eyes against the fierce wind blown up by the massive beasts flying overhead. He peers across Skyrim, as if anyone would be visible from this height. "If Alduin does not rise to our challenge, I fear all may be lost."

"You worry too much, brother." Gormlaith says as a robed, older man joins the pair. "Victory will be ours!"

"Why does Alduin hang back?" The dark haired warrior addresses the old man. "We've staked everything on this plan of yours, old man."

"He will come." The elder is confident. "He cannot ignore our defiance. And why should he fear us, even now?"

"We've bloodied him well – four of his kin have fallen to my blade alone this day." Gormlaith was a very proud fighter, it seems.

"But none have yet stood against Alduin himself." Points out the elder. His robes are very much like those worn by the Greybeards. "Galthor, Sorri, Birkir..."

"They did not have Dragonrend. Once we bring him down, I promise I will have his head."

"You do not understand. Alduin cannot be slain like a lesser dragon. He is beyond our strength. Which is why I brought the Elder Scroll." The old man pulls out the mentioned item from the bag almost hidden beneath his robes.

"Felldir!" Hakon cries upon sight of the object. "We agreed not to use it!"

"I never agreed!" replies Felldir. "And if you are right, I will not need it."

"No. We will deal with Alduin ourselves; here and now."

"We shall see soon enough." Interrupts Gormlaith, eyes on the skies. "Alduin approaches!"

"So be it." Says Hakon quietly, as the great black dragon lands to perch on top of the Word Wall.

"Meyye!" He cries. "Tahrodiis aanne! Him hinde pah liiv! Zu'u hin daan!"

"Let those that watch from Sovngarde envy us this day!" Yells Gormlaith above the flapping of Alduin's wings as he heaves himself back into the air. Then the trio draw a deep breath and...

"Joor Zah Frul!" The Dragonrend Shout blasts through the air and slams into the World-Eater, knocking him off-balance somehow in mid-air, forcing him to land in the great snowy space before the warriors. A the same time, I feel the warmth associated with learning a new Word, but threefold – most likely because I learnt three Words in one go. And, because they were man-made, I don't need to worry about unlocking them through the use of a dragon soul – that must be what happens when I learn a word after killing a dragon.

"Nivahriin joorre!" Curses Alduin. "What have you done? What twisted Words have you created? Tahrodiis Paarthurnax! My teeth to his neck! But first... dir ko maar. You will die in terror, knowing your final fate – to feed my power when I come for you in Sovngarde!"

"If I die today, it will not be in terror!" Gormlaith cries, the first into the fray against the great beast. "You feel fear for the first time, worm. I see it in your eyes!" She yells between swings of her blade. Hakon and Felldir are both hacking away with their great weapons, Felldir first stepping back and using a Shout that douses the dragon in ice.

"Skyrim will be free!" Continues Gormlaith, shouting what turn out to be her last words as the great monster picks her up in his massive jaws, shakes her a couple of times and throws her away; much like a dog with a rat.

"NO!" Screams Hakon as her body comes to rest at the foot of the Word Wall. "Damn you! It's no use; use the Scroll, Felldir – now!" He continues whacking at the World-Eater as the old man unfurls the Scroll, much like I did earlier.

"Hold, Alduin on the wing! Sister Hawk, grant us your sacred breath to make this contract heard! Begone, World-Eater! By words with older bones than your own, we break your perch on this age and send you out! You are banished! Alduin, we shout you out from all our endings unto the last!"

"Faal Kel..? Nikriinne..." Alduin says as he vanishes in a blast of greenish light.

"You are banished!" Felldir finishes reading the Scroll, rolls it back up and puts it away. Hakon approaches the now-breathless old man.

"It worked! You did it..." He says in wonderment.

"Yes, the World-Eater is gone. May the spirits have mercy on our souls..."

Anything else the pair say is drowned out by another whooshing noise, and after another blinding flash, I find myself back in my own time; everything is as I left it except for one thing... the great black dragon hovering near the Word Wall.

"Bahloki nahkip sillesejoor." Growls Alduin. "My belly is full of the souls of your fellow mortals, Dovahkiin. Die now, and await your fate in Sovngarde!" He starts flapping higher into the air.

"Lost funt – you are too late, Alduin! Dovahkiin – use Dragonrend, if you know it!" Paarthurnax replies, also taking to the skies.

Alright – here goes. Better have a go before he flies too much further...

"Joor Zah Frul!" For the first time since the previous fight on this mountain, a dragon has the concept of mortality slammed into its mind, forcing it to land from the sheer horror of it. I don't exactly understand how I know that – understanding must have come with the learning; much like when I learn a Word from a Wall.

Alduin is saying something about power waxing and waning, but I'm not listening – using the sword I picked up in Sky Haven Temple, I'm hacking away, using Dragonrend as often as I can to prevent it from wearing off too soon and the World-Eater escaping. Lydia is helping, shooting arrows into the thick scaly hide in front of me, while Paarthurnax roasts him with Fire Breath. Just as I'm about to attempt the kill-strike, Alduin shoves me with his snout, casting me back several feet through the snow.

"Meyz mul, Dovahkiin." He says. "You have become strong. But I am Al Du In! First-born of Akatosh! Mulaagi zok lot! I cannot be slain here, by you or anyone else. You cannot prevail against me; I will outlast you, mortal!" Gathering the last of his strength, and before I can fully return to my feet, the World-Eater takes to the skies and flies off eastwards.

Damn! I almost had the bastard, and he escaped! I'm going to have to find out where he went; I will not let this lie!

"Lot krongrah." Says Paarthurnax, landing on the Word Wall. "You truly have the Voice of a dovah. Alduin's allies will think twice after this victory."

"I need to find out where Alduin went."

"Yes... one of his allies could tell us." The ancient beast responds. "Motmahus... but it will not be so easy to... convince one of them to betray him. Perhaps the hofkahsejun... the palace in Whiterun... Dragonsreach. It was originally built to house a captive dovah. A fine place to trap one of Alduin's allies, hmm?"

"The Jarl of Whiterun might not think so." I counter.

"Hmm, yes... But your su'um is strong. I do not doubt that you can convince him of the need."

Finishing our conversation, Lydia and I head back down the mountain, through High Hrothgar and take the quiet trip to Whiterun. Nothing happens that endangers us, so we soon pass through the city gates. The sky is darkening though, so instead of heading straight up to Dragonsreach, I rent the room at the Bannered Mare and strip down to sleep. The beds in the cities are far more comfortable than those in the small town inns!


	18. Up and Down the Mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of the oak and the willow mentioned below is basically an extension of the old saying. 'The oak fights the wind and so falls and dies; the willow bends with the wind, and so survives'. This is used as a metaphor to inform people that it is better to go along with change – be the willow – than to fight against it – be the oak.

I'm still a bit tired when I get up, but I'm ready to talk to the Jarl. I make my way up to Dragonsreach past the still silent market stalls and the dead tree in the centre of the next courtyard. The priest who is always yelling about Talos is preparing for today's rant, but I ignore him and continue on up the steps.

Inside, the Jarl is sat at one of the banquet tables waiting for his breakfast to be brought to him. I stop opposite and grab his attention away from his empty plate.

"May the gods watch over your battles, friend." He greets me.

"I need your help. I need to trap a dragon in your palace."

"I must have misheard you." Balgruuf replies, once he's finished choking on his own spit. "I thought you asked me to help you trap a dragon in my palace!"

"You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important." I try to persuade him.

"I'm sorry, but I can't do it. We'll just have to keep fighting the dragons as best we can."

"Please." I'm almost begging now. "It has to be here."

Balgruuf shakes his head. "What you're asking for is insane. Impossible! You want me to let a dragon into the heart of my city, with the threat of war on my doorstep?"

"It's the only way to stop the dragon attacks."

"There must be another way; the risk is too great." Balgruuf stubbornly cries.

"The threat is worse than you know." Lydia says from behind me. The Jarl glances at her, then turns back to me, a quizzical glint in his eye.

"Alduin has returned." I say, simply.

"Alduin? The World Eater himself?" Balgruuf reels back, righting himself as a servant delivers a platter full of fruit in front of him. He grimaces at it, then continues. "But... how can we fight him? Doesn't his return mean it's the End Times?"

"It's only hopeless if we give up." Upon uttering this, I get a vague sense of Déjà vu. Didn't I make the same argument to Esbern in the Ratway?

"I didn't say anything about giving up. Now what's this nonsense about trapping a dragon in my palace?"

"It's the only way to find Alduin before it's too late."

"I want to help you, Dragonborn. And I will; but I need your help first. Ulfric and General Tullius are both just waiting for me to make a wrong move. Do you think they will sit idle while a dragon is slaughtering my men and burning my city? No! I can't risk weakening the city while we are under the threat of enemy attack. I'm sorry." Balgruuf reluctantly takes a bite of one of the apple slices on his plate.

"What if you didn't have to worry about an enemy attack?" I ask, thinking quickly.

"Then I would be glad to help you with your mad dragon trapping scheme. But getting both sides to agree to a truce will be difficult at this point. The bitterness has gone too deep. Maybe... Hmm... What of the Greybeards? They are respected by all Nords. High Hrothgar is neutral territory. If the Greybeards were willing to host a peace council, then maybe Ulfric and Tullius would have to listen."

"Leave that to me." I say confidently, while inside dreading the climb back up the mountain. At least we are extremely unlikely to be attacked on the way up. "I'll talk to Arngeir about hosting a peace council."

"Aye, Dragonborn. Maybe you can stop the dragons – and this war into the bargain." With that, Balgruuf steadfastly continues to munch on his breakfast, occasionally muttering about 'women and their silly "healthy" ideas'. Men!

On the way out of the city I stop by Belethor's to top up on potions, buying a little food as well after realising I haven't eaten properly in days myself. The journey back to High Hrothgar is so quiet I'm starting to worry that we've already killed off all the vicious wildlife left in Skyrim. Not that that is an entirely bad thing; but I don't want to knock nature out of balance – Kynareth's worshippers at least would definitely have something to say about that!

We reach the doors of Hrothgar as the sun reaches about three-quarters of the way to its zenith. Inside we find Arngeir meditating in the middle of the stone entry hall.

"Alduin... We heard the Dragonrend Shout from here. You defeated him?" He asks as my shadow falls over his hooded face.

"Yes, but he escaped." I explain. "I need to find his portal to Sovngarde."

"I feared as much." Arngeir rises from his squat, bones creaking. "I thought it was him we saw flying east after your battle."

"I need your help. I need to capture a dragon."

"We are not warriors." The Greybeard interrupts before I can explain further. "What is overlooked in the Dragonborn is not permitted to any other followers of the Way of the Voice."

I stifle an exasperated sigh. "I'll worry about capturing a dragon. I need your help to stop the war."

"You misunderstand our authority. The Greybeards have never involved themselves in political affairs." I think Arngeir is the one misunderstanding. My father was a quiet, unassuming man, yet whenever the Councillors of House Hlaalu had a problem they couldn't solve, they would turn to him. Skyrim seems to hold these Greybeards in the same esteem.

"Jarl Balgruuf won't help me while the war rages."

"I see. The dragon will lead you to Alduin, but without the Jarl's help..."

"Both sides respect the Greybeards." I practice my silver tongue again, in the hopes of more success than my last attempt. "They will listen."

"Paarthurnax has made the decision to help you. This is the road we have to walk. Even the Greybeards must bend to the winds of Change, it seems." Arngeir must have never heard of the old wives' tale of the oak and the willow. "So be it. Tell Ulfric and General Tullius that the Greybeards wish to speak with them. We will see if they still remember us."

Back down the mountain we go, off to Windhelm. Again. All this up and down is getting really tiring.

Along the road towards Windhelm we pass a trio of Imperial soldiers flanking a ragged man, and further on a trio of Stormcloaks. I hope the two groups don't meet; I doubt that that would be an encounter the prisoner at least would survive. Just past Mixwater Mill, an Argonian emerges from the bushes, daggers drawn.

"All right, hand over your valuables, or I'll gut you like a fish!" Do all thieves have to follow a script or something?

"Walk away. Right now." I say as intimidatingly as possible, flexing my arms and loosening my sword in its scabbard.

"Nice try, but you don't scare me. I'm not going to ask again."

"I don't have time for this." I mutter, but the lizard hears me.

"Don't you walk away from me!" With that, the thief slashes at me with his daggers.

"Yol!" I Shout in reply, bathing the foolish reptile in fire, at the same time Lydia fires an arrow into his eye. The arrow hits him with such force that he is flung backwards along the road, and he dies almost immediately.

After confiscating the daggers – not that the Argonian will ever need them again – we continue along the now snowy road, and past an Orc who is very obviously high. Crossing the bridge into the city, the sun finally sinks below the horizon – did it really take that long? – so we head into the inn, renting the room from the sullen innkeeper.


	19. Persuasion

The next morning, it's bright and cold outside. At least I don't have to be outside for that long – it'll have warmed up at least a little by the time I'm finished with Ulfric. As I enter the famous Palace of the Kings, I hear the Jarl's gruff-voiced general complaining at him.

"Balgruuf won't give us a straight answer." He says, emerging from a side room.

"He's a true Nord. He'll come around." Ulfric replies. Since you don't just interrupt an important figure like the Jarl, I decide to wait until they've finished their conversation before I attempt my request.

"Don't be so sure of that. We've intercepted couriers from Solitude. The Empire's putting a great deal of pressure on Whiterun."

"And what would you have me do?"

"If he's not with us, he's against us." Reminds the bearskin clad fighter.

"He knows that. They all know that." Ulfric steps down from the great stone throne.

"How long are you going to wait?"

"You think I need to send Balgruuf a stronger message." The Jarl leads the way back into the side room. Their conversation echoes through the corridor into the great hall.

"If by message, you mean shoving a sword through his gullet."

"Taking his city and leaving him in disgrace would make a more powerful statement, don't you think?"

"So we're ready to start this war in earnest then?" I decide to settle down at the banquet table to wait – it's taking a while for me to wake up this morning.

"Soon." Ulfric seems hesitant still.

"I still say you should take them all out like you did Dead-king Torygg." What a bloodthirsty man! He probably killed and skinned the bear he wears with his bare hands..!

"Torygg was merely a message to the other Jarls. Whoever we replace them with will need the support of our armies."

"We're ready when you are."

"Things hinge on Whiterun. If we can take the city without bloodshed, all the better. But if not..."

"The people are behind you."

"Many, I fear, still need convincing." I lean over and peer through the short corridor into the war-room. Ulfric's being dramatic, his back to his general while he looks through – or rather, at – the fogged up windows.

"Then let them die with their false kings."

"We've been soldiers a long time. We know the price of freedom. The people are still weighing things in their hearts."

"What's left of Skyrim to wager?"

"They have families to think of."

"How many of their sons and daughters follow your banner? We are their families."

"Well put, friend. Tell me Galmar, why do you fight for me?"

"I'd follow you into the depths of Oblivion, you know that." The rough-voiced man replies. They appear to be heading back into the great hall, but they hesitate in the doorway.

"Yes, but why do you fight? If not for me, what then?"

"I'll die before elves dictate the fates of men. Are we not one in this?" Galmar leads the way into the room and towards the ancient seat.

"I fight for the men I've held in my arms, dying on foreign soil." Ulfric climbs the steps up to the throne and stands before it. "I fight for their wives and children, whose names I heard whispered in their last breaths. I fight for we few who did come home, only to find our country full of strangers wearing familiar faces. I fight for my people impoverished to pay the debts of an Empire too weak to rule them, yet brands them criminals for wanting to rule themselves! I fight so that all the fighting I've already done hasn't been for nothing. I fight... because I must." He turns and sits, leaning against the tall back of the throne.

"Your words give voice to what we all feel, Ulfric." Galmar responds. "And that's why you will be High King. But the day words are enough will be the day when soldiers like us are no longer needed."

"I would gladly retire from the world were such a day to dawn."

"Aye. But in the meantime, we have a war to plan." Galmar heads back towards the war room, and I take my chance and approach the Jarl.

"Only the foolish or the courageous approach a Jarl without summons... Do I know you?" Ulfric squints at me. He probably wouldn't recognise me without the dirt and terror on my face.

"I was at Helgen." I say, simply.

"Ah, yes... destined for the chopping block, if I'm not mistaken."

"I helped Ralof escape. He said he'd vouch for me."

"Ralof's alive? I hope that's true. He's a damn good man. But he hasn't returned yet, so I'll need to wait for his account." Oh dear. It's been over two weeks since I've even thought of him. I hope nothing has happened to the fellow.

"For now, speak with Galmar." Ulfric continues. "I'm always looking for able fighters." The Jarl seems to think I'm here to join up. I might, at a later date, but not now. "Not everyone can say they made it out of Helgen. Seems we're all branded villains these days. So long as your criminal past stays in the past, and you fight for me with honour and integrity, we'll welcome you into our ranks." 'Criminal past'?! Since when has being in the wrong place at the wrong time been a criminal act?

I still can't remember what it was that brought me to Skyrim. I think it might be something to do with the assassins chasing me – I don't know. I hate not knowing.

"I have a message from the Greybeards." I inform the Jarl.

"It's about time they turn their gaze from the heavens back to our bleeding homeland. What do they want?"

"They want to negotiate a truce until the dragon menace is dealt with."

"I have the greatest respect for the Greybeards, of course. And the dragon attacks are a growing plague. But the political situation is still delicate. Not all the Jarls are fully committed to supporting me as High King. I can't afford to appear weak. I can't agree to this unless Tullius himself will be there."

"Politics be damned. Alduin has returned!"

"Alduin? The World-Eater of song and legend? If that's true... well, it changes the situation, doesn't it? Even Tullius may be forced to talk sense in the face of such a threat."

"So you'll come to the peace council?"

"Yes. I'll give Tullius one more chance to quit Skyrim with his tail between his legs."

I give a slight bow, then leave, heading towards the marketplace to the west of the main gate. Topping up on arrows and potions, I sell the daggers and other small things I'd picked up on the journey, then head out of the city to follow the road west.

A little way along the road we encounter a pair of wolves hanging around the body of a goat they'd just killed. I'm kind of relieved – I was worried we'd already killed off all the wildlife in Skyrim! They don't last that long against us though. The journey into the Pale isn't that different; more wolves and a few spiders attempt to make us dinner and shortly find out their mistake. About halfway towards Dawnstar, however, a dragon swoops over us, then veers around to attack.

Using the Dragonrend shout to bring it to earth, I draw out the sword I picked up in Sky Haven Temple and start hacking at the scaled hide. I discover that using Dragonrend while the dragon is itself Shouting interrupts it, meaning I take less and cause more damage while it recoils from the blast of my Shout. Lydia is peppering it with arrows that occasionally stick into its skin – most of them simply bounce off. Eventually the great beast is dead, feeding my soul collection as it burns to a skeleton before me. I'm a little out of breath from all the Shouting, but I'll soon recover.

I peer at the sky – not even midday yet. We're making good time. We continue along the road through the old fort across the road and turning left when the west path meets the one we're currently on, which continues down into Dawnstar.

Not far along, past the old ruined barrow, an ice wraith tries to freeze us. We don't give it a chance, and soon it dissolves into an icy puddle at my feet. Running on, after fighting another pair of spiders and a couple of mudcrabs which are for some reason in the middle of the road, we find a dog sat whimpering next to the road where it passes through some woodland.

Approaching the poor pooch, it runs off a little way into the forest, then stops and looks back at us as if to ask why we're not following. OK, let's see what he wants. The dog leads us to a small hut in the middle of the trees. Inside, the dog stops, and lies down beside a bed occupied by the body of his previous owner. Poor thing.

Hanging from a frame near a set of shelves is a rabbit and a pheasant, so I harvest as much meat as I can from both and put it in a bowl on the floor. I feel a little guilty, but I can't take the dog with me; I'd feel horrible when – and I know it'd be 'when' – it got killed. It seems to be doing alright on its own so far.

On a small chest of drawers at the foot of the bed is a journal, which I pick up and leaf through.

Well, after all my years living in these woods, it looks like the Rockjoint will finally be the end of me. I guess that's fine. All my friends are long dead. The only one left is poor Meeko. He was always a loyal companion, and I know he'll be able to take care of himself. I hope someday I'll see him again.

"I'm sorry, Meeko." I say to the sad-faced animal, then leave the shack and head back towards the road. We pass through a quiet Dragon Bridge, on up the road and into Solitude. I duck into the potion shop to use the alchemy lab there – the ingredients I've collected on my journey here will be worth more as potions. Once finished, I head over the road to Bits and Pieces to sell all the stuff I now have. The sun is touching the watchtowers on the walls when I head up to the castle, where General Tullius is conferring with his Legate advisor.

"I'm telling you, Ulfric's planning an attack on Whiterun." She says adamantly.

"He'd be insane to try. He doesn't have the men." The general rebuts her.

"That's not what my scouts report, sir. Every day more join his cause. Riften, Dawnstar and Winterhold support him."

Looks like I'll be waiting out another long conversation.

"It's not a cause; it's a rebellion."

"Call it whatever you like, General. The man's going to try to take Whiterun."

"Jarl Balgruuf..."

"Balgruuf refuses the Legion's right to garrison troops in his city." The Legate interrupts. "Un the other hand, he also refuses to acknowledge Ulfric's claim."

"Well, if he wants to stand outside the protection of the Empire, fine. Let Ulfric pillage his city."

"General!" I find myself agreeing with the Legate here – that is a bit harsh. And petty.

"You people and your damn Jarls."

"Sir? You can't force a Nord to accept help he hasn't asked for."

"If Ulfric's making a move for Whiterun, then we need to be there to stop him. Draft another letter with the usual platitudes, but this time share some of your intelligence regarding Ulfric's plans. Embellish if you have to. We'll let it seem like it's his idea."

"Yes sir."

"You Nords and your bloody sense of honour."

"Sir."

I approach the annoyed looking General.

"I remember you." He says upon seeing me. "You were at Helgen. Speak to Legate Rikke. I suspect we could use someone like you." So Ulfric is reluctant to recruit someone the Empire called criminal, but the Empire itself openly asks me to join? Strange times we live in...

"That's not why I'm here." I say, trying not to sound like all the hatred for what they tried to do to me hasn't resurfaced.

"I see. Then there's nothing further to discuss. If you change your mind, speak to the Legate." He begins to turn away.

"I have a message from the Greybeards." That stops him.

"The Greybeards? What do those old hermits want with me?"

"They're convening a peace council at High Hrothgar."

"Why? There's nothing to discuss as long as that traitor Ulfric is in arms against his rightful Emperor." The General crosses his arms and scowls at me. Or rather, through me.

"We need a truce until the dragon menace is dealt with."

"They are getting to be a problem. But I wasn't sent to Skyrim to fight dragons." That's why I'm here, I say quietly to myself. "My job is to quell this rebellion and I intend to do just that, dragons or no dragons."

"Ulfric has already agreed to attend."

"Has he? I suppose he doesn't want to miss a chance to bluster about the Empire's many crimes. He's probably hoping I refuse so he can blame the Empire for being unreasonable. I think I'll have to disappoint him yet again."

Suppressing the urge to share a look with Lydia, I say "So you'll come to the peace council, then?"

"Yes, yes, fine. I'll come to this Greybeard council; for all the good it will do."

I sigh. Politics is far too confusing for me to even pretend to be interested in it. Leaving the castle and entering the cool night, I head towards the Winking Skeever and rent a room. I'm pretty tired, and I am not really looking forward to having to climb up to High Hrothgar yet again tomorrow.


	20. On the Road Again

The next morning, I'm still pretty tired, but I should wake up as I travel. The sun starts to rise as Lydia and I leave the city, heading down the slope past the Khajiit caravan that has set up just outside the main gate. The journey to and through Dragon Bridge is quiet, with only the birdsong to accompany us. Across the famous bridge, we pass a farmer leading a painted cow along the road, warning us to stay away. Crazy people.

Passing through Robber's Gorge, I find to my relief no-one has moved in yet, so we traverse the bridge beyond safely. The first attack we endure is halfway up the hill towards Rorikstead – a lone wolf forfeits the safer target of a passing elk and attempts to have a taste of us instead. It seems to be weaker than the ones we've fought before – or have we got stronger? I suspect it is actually the latter.

Leaving the skinned corpse of the canine sliding down the road, we head on up to the little settlement, just as a large dragon swoops overhead. I find myself actually looking forward to the fight – it'll definitely be more of a challenge than that flimsy wolf.

I swap my Dwemer-forged blade for the katana, and use Dragonrend in the direction the dragon is swooping in. Perfect aim – the beast flies straight into the blast, and lands on the rocky hillside with an angry scream.

I climb the slope as quickly as I can, and Shout again when I reach the top, in case I can't get to the monster before the effects wear off. In doing so, I manage to interrupt it's Shout at me, making it recoil again and allowing me to get a good couple of hits in before it recovers.

Come to think of it, are all dragons male? Since they were all created at around the same time, and they have no need to reproduce... there wouldn't be any females, would there?

I surprise myself that I can think of these things while in combat with the great creature. It seems that not only have I become stronger since Helgen, but also more used to combat and adventuring. I no longer cringe at the thought of delving through another cave to find the treasure at the end – in fact, even the thought of doing something like that makes my heart beat faster with excitement!

I'm so busy fighting on automatic that it takes me a couple of seconds to realise the dragon is dead. Sheathing my blade back in the scabbard I keep tucked behind the one for the Dwemer sword, I loot the beast's corpse as its soul soaks into my flesh. I can see the empty burial mound nearby – a toppled stone has marks etched into it, barely legible. Nahagliiv. It takes me a couple of seconds for me to realise... the name is written in Draconic. I seem to be learning more than just Words of Power with these dragon souls.

Re-joining the road, we travel a few more meters in peace before a mad Argonian leaps out from behind a half-toppled stone wall and attacks us with a pair of daggers. He is fairly weak though – it doesn't take long for him to be lying on the ground at our feet. I take the daggers and the other loot items, then continue along the road – until a lone bandit tries to play a deadly version of peekaboo. He loses, I gain his gold as a prize, then we follow the road all the way back to Whiterun.

The only business I have in the city at the moment is selling the spoils of the fights on the way from Solitude. Leaving the city afterwards, I lead Lydia straight to Riverwood to drop off the few things I had decided to keep before starting the arduous journey around and up the mountain – which is actually starting to get a bit boring, since we've already dealt with all the dangerous wildlife. The journey is so quiet – nothing of any real note happens, and no thoughts cross my mind either. Yes, call me dull, but sometimes I actually enjoy travelling for a few hours without thinking of anything; just enjoying the scenery and the birdsong.

We soon find ourselves at the top of the Steps, to find Delphine and Esbern have got there before us. Why did they come?

Following them inside, I hang back to witness their confrontation with Arngeir and the Greybeards.

"So, Arngeir, is it?" Delphine steps forward. "You know why we're here. Are you going to let us in or not?"

"You were not invited here. You are not welcome here." Arngeir's response is not well received.

"We have as much right to be at this council as all of you. More, actually, since we were the ones who put the Dragonborn on this path."

"Were you? The hubris of the Blades truly knows no bounds."

"Delphine, we're not here to rehearse old grudges." Esbern halts the argument. "The matter at hand is urgent. Alduin must be stopped. You wouldn't have called this council if you didn't agree. We know a great deal about the situation and the threat that Alduin poses to us all. You need us here if you want this council to succeed."

A moment of thought later, Arngeir says "Very well. You may enter." The Blades walk past him, the other Greybeards following, towards the right wing while Arngeir wanders in my direction.

"So you've done it. The men of violence have gathered here in these halls, whose very stones are dedicated to peace. I should not have agreed to host this council. The Greybeards have no business involving ourselves in such matters."

"This was the only way to get Balgruuf's help." I remind him.

"Yes, yes. Which is why I allowed this... violation of all our traditions. But regrets are pointless; here we are. Take your seat at the council table and let us see what wisdom we can find among these warriors of Skyrim."

The sky outside is now pitch black, my feet are a little sore and I am exhausted.

"Actually, can we postpone until tomorrow? It has been a long journey from Solitude." I ask.

"Of course." Accedes the Greybeard. "We shall be waiting on you, Dragonborn."


	21. Politics

I am a little reluctant to get up this morning. Best to get it over with, I suppose. I head to the meeting room.

Around the table stand the participants – General Tullius on one side with Jarl Balgruuf, a well-dressed young redheaded woman, Legate Rikke and Elenwen; and on the other side, Jarl Ulfric waits with Galmar, accompanied by Delphine and Esbern. Arngeir stands at the head of the table. I hope they haven't been standing there all night! I approach the unclaimed seat at the other end of the room and sit down.

"Now that everyone is here, please take your seats so we can begin." Everyone sits – well, almost everyone. "I hope that-"

"No." Ulfric interrupts. "You insult us by bringing her to this negotiation? Your chief Talos-hunter?"

"That didn't take long." Rikke says just under her breath.

"Hear hear!" Galmar agrees with his leader's argument.

"I have every right to be at this negotiation." Counters the Thalmor. "I need to ensure that nothing is agreed to here that violates the terms of the White-Gold Concordat."

"She's part of the Imperial delegation. You can't dictate who I bring to this council." Tullius interjects.

"Please!" Cries Arngeir. "If we have to negotiate the terms of the negotiation, we will never get anywhere. Perhaps this would be a good time to get the Dragonborn's input on this matter."

"By Ysmir's beard, the nerve of those Imperial bastards, eh?" Ulfric says to me. "To think that I would sit down at the same table with that... Thalmor bitch. Either she walks or I do."

"You're right. The Thalmor have no business here." I reply. Skyrim is nowhere near the Altmeri Dominion; nothing that could happen here would affect them at all.

"I'm glad we agree on this." As Ulfric says this, Elenwen's face clouds over.

"Very well, Ulfric. Enjoy your petty victory. The Thalmor will treat with whatever government rules Skyrim. We would not think of interfering in your civil war." She rises from her seat and leaves.

"Ha! Skyrim will never bow to the Thalmor! Unlike your Imperial friends here." Galmar says at her retreating back. With that last, the Stormcloaks sit.

"You're lucky I respect the Greybeard's council, Galmar!" Rikke stands angrily.

"Legate! We represent the Emperor here." Reminds the General.

"Sorry sir. It won't happen again." She returns to her seat. All this drama and we have done nothing yet.

"Now that is settled, may we proceed?" Arngeir requests.

"I have something to say first." Ulfric growls.

"Here we go." Complains Rikke again.

"The only reason I agreed to attend this council was to deal with the dragon menace. There's nothing else to talk about, unless the Empire is finally ready to renounce its unjust claim to rule over the free people of Skyrim."

"I knew he wouldn't be able to resist." Rikke mutters. She seems to harbour a lot of resentment for the Stormcloaks.

"We're here to arrange a temporary truce to allow the Dragonborn here to deal with the dragons. Nothing more." The Jarl continues. "I consider even talking to the Empire a generous gesture."

"Are you done?" Asks the General. "Did you just come here to make speeches, or can we get down to business?"

"Yes. Let's get this over with."

"Are we ready to proceed?" Arngeir says, his eyes reflecting the exasperation I'm starting to feel. Maybe the old man was right – maybe this was a bad idea. Too late to go back now.

"Jarl Ulfric... General Tullius..." The Greybeard continues. "This council is unprecedented. We are gathered here at the Dragonborn's request. I ask that you all respect the spirit of High Hrothgar and do your best to begin the process of achieving a lasting peace in Skyrim. Who would like to open the negotiations?"

"Yes, let's get down to it." Ulfric begins. "We want control of Markarth. That's our price for agreeing to this truce."

"So that's why you're here, Ulfric." The redhead injects. "You dare to insult the Greybeards by using this council to advance your own position?"

"Jarl Elisif, I'll handle this." Tullius says quietly.

"General, this is outrageous!" The young woman cries. "You can't be taking this demand seriously! I thought we were here to discuss a truce!"

"Elisif! I said I'd handle it!" The rugged Cyrodiil settles the fiery girl, then turns back to the other occupants of the table. "Ulfric, you can't seriously expect us to give up Markarth at the negotiating table. You hope to gain in council what you've been unable to take in battle, is that it?"

"I'm sure Jarl Ulfric doesn't expect something for nothing." Arngeir says.

"Yes, that would be entirely out of character." Rikke always has something to say.

"What would the Empire want in return?" The Greybeard continues.

"Wait, General! You don't intend to just hand over Markarth to that... traitor?!" The young Jarl cries in outrage.

"This is how the Empire repays us for our loyalty?" Balgruuf asks.

"Enough!" Demands the General. "First, let's be clear. This council wasn't my idea. I think it's a waste of time. You are a traitor to the Empire, and deserve a traitor's death. But I at least will negotiate in good faith." He turns to face me. "Since we're all here at your request, I'd like to hear what you think Markarth is worth."

I had hoped to be able to stay out of this, but it seems instead, I am to make all the important decisions.

"Dawnstar seems like a fair trade." I say – another port, another supply line that is unlikely to be interrupted by the Stormcloaks at least.

"In exchange for Markarth, the source of most of Skyrim's silver? Hardly. Riften seems like a better choice to me. Well-fortified, easily resupplied across Lake Honrich. Plus, all the mead we could drink."

But more land-space equals more places for hidden camps, and drunken soldiers don't fight as well.

"There are advantages to gaining Dawnstar." I say. Doesn't Dawnstar have two mines?

"Not enough to outweigh the loss of Markarth. With the Reach in enemy hands our whole position in Solitude would be threatened."

The Pale also shares a border with Eastmarch. Besides, most of the Reach is vertical; not many people are willing to go up and down mountains in any sort of armour. Which must make me a special kind of idiot...

"You asked my opinion. I gave it to you." I say, sharper than I meant to. I'm a bit grumpy with myself now, for going along with this damned adventurer's lifestyle. Yet I do enjoy it.

"Fair enough." Tullius concedes. "I was hoping you could put aside your loyalties for the greater good," Why did those last three words echo in my mind in a strange accent? "But I see you're thoroughly in Ulfric's camp. Still... having another port would ease our supply situation considerably. Better than nothing I suppose. But Ulfric will need to offer a lot more if he wants me to give up Markarth without a fight."

"The Dragonborn has spoken, Tullius." Ulfric says, victory in his gruff voice. "Markarth will be ours. Now we'll see if there's anything behind your talk of good faith."

"You disappoint me, Dragonborn." Tullius scowls at me. Can't please everyone. "I accepted your invitation on trust in your good name. But it seems you intend to favour Ulfric." Of course it does – he didn't try to cut my head off! "I can see now that this is not a negotiation at all. I know you, Ulfric. If I hand over Markarth, you'll be ready with a new demand. You'll never defeat the Empire and you know it. But you're willing to sacrifice thousands for your own selfish ambitions. Soon enough I'll have you back under the headsman's axe, and this time there won't be any dragon to save you."

"As always the Empire's fine words are worth nothing!" The angry Jarl retorts as Esbern leaps out of his seat.

"Stop! Are you so blind to our danger that you can't see past your petty disagreements? Here you sit, arguing about... nothing! While the fate of the land hangs in the balance!"

"Is he with you, Delphine? If so, I advise you to tell him to watch his tongue." Ulfric snaps.

"He is with me. And I advise you to listen to what he has to say, before you do anything rash." The Blade replies.

"Don't you understand the danger?" Esbern continues. "Don't you understand what the return of the dragons means? Alduin has returned! The World-Eater! Even now, he devours the souls of your fallen comrades. He grows more powerful with every soldier slain in your pointless war! Can you not put aside your hatred for even one moment in the face of this mortal danger?" With that, he stops pacing behind Arngeir's chair and sits back down in his own.

"I don't know about the end of the world, but this dragon situation has gotten out of hand." Tullius says, much calmer than he was before. "If this truce will help the Dragonborn here put an end to that menace, we both gain. Remember that, Ulfric. Now back to the matter at hand. You know as well as I do that we can't hand over Markarth on these terms."

"Shor's bones, when will these demands end?" Galmar complains. Neither leader has much of a grip on their subordinates, it seems. At least Lydia hasn't interjected with some inane comment, as she has been wont to do throughout the course of our journeys together.

"Let's hear it." Ulfric sighs.

"We want compensation for the massacre at Karthwasten." Tullius says simply.

"You slaughtered the very people you claim to be fighting for." Rikke cries. "True sons of Skyrim would never do such things."

"Damned Imperial lies!" Shouts Galmar, almost over the top of the Legate. "My men would never stoop to such methods, even in retaliation for your butchery at -"

"This is our homeland, Tullius." Ulfric interrupts Galmar's rant. "All the blood spilled in this war is on your head."

Tullius turns to me again. "So, Dragonborn, what do you say?"

"Ulfric should compensate you for Karthwasten." I'm trying to be fair, but it is really hard to judge.

"Well said." The General turns back to the blond Jarl. "For once you'll actually pay for your crimes. You know I can't agree to these terms. The Emperor would repudiate this treaty and I would be recalled." Would that be such a bad thing? Sometimes it is easier to deal with those with whom you have no history – Rikke and Galmar have obviously known each other a long time before they became enemies, at least.

"Damn Imperial arrogance." Growls the angry bear-clad Stormcloak.

"Let's hear it." Ulfric repeats.

"We want Kraldar removed as Jarl of Winterhold and an Imperial candidate put in his place."

"What next, Tullius? Shall I just hand over all of Skyrim?" Ulfric complains.

"I guess I have no choice but to let the Dragonborn decide. Although I'm starting to doubt your fairness. So, Dragonborn, what do you say?"

I'm tired and I'm bored, is what I want to say. Instead, I grumpily announce: "Ulfric doesn't need to give up any more territory." Anything to get this to end already!

"As I expected you favour your friends." Tullius sulks. "Don't hand me a mug of sheep's piss and call it Colovian Brandy; these terms are still unacceptable."

"Out with it then." Ulfric sounds bored too.

Tullius glances at me before continuing. "Never mind. I can see that these are the best terms we'll get from this council. So be it. The Empire at least puts the greater good above our own interests."

"It seems we may have an agreement." Arngeir rises from his seat. "Jarl Ulfric, General Tullius; these are the terms currently on the table. Markarth will be handed over to Ulfric's forces. Jarl Igmund will step down, and Thongvor Silver-Blood will become the Jarl of Markarth. Ulfric will allow Imperial forced into The Pale. Skald the Elder will go into exile, and Brina Merilis will assume the Jarlship. The Stormcloaks will pay appropriate compensation for the massacre at Karthwasten. You both agree to this?"

"The sons of Skyrim will live up to their agreements, as long as the Imperials hold to theirs." He looks at the young redheaded Jarl across the table. "What about you, Elisif? Are these terms to your liking? Speak up! I'm sure General Tullius is waiting to do your bidding."

"I have nothing to say to that murderer." She says instead to the General. "General, you've proven yourself to be a good friend to Skyrim. I continue to trust that you will do your utmost to safeguard our interests." She talks as though she is the High Queen.

"Thank-you, Jarl Elisif. I appreciate your loyalty. These terms blatantly favour the rebels; everyone here knows that. But the Empire will accept them, until the dragon menace is dealt with. After that, Ulfric... there will be a reckoning. Count on it."

The Stormcloaks leave the table.

"Come on, Galmar. We have a lot of work to do." With that, the pair leaves. For some reason, Tullius, Rikke and Elisif stay, even though what I know is coming next doesn't concern them.

"Giving up Markarth is a heavy price for this truce, Dragonborn. I hope it was worth it." Balgruuf says.

"Jarl Balgruuf, I assume you are familiar with the Dragonborn's plan?" Arngeir asks the man.

"Yes, I'm ready to do my part. Just say the word, and my men will help you spring this trap." He replies.

"But the difficulty remains – how to lure a dragon to Dragonsreach at all?" The Greybeard continues.

"Well, that's an excellent question." Tullius says. "You haven't overlooked that little detail, have you?"

Must not glare at Tullius, must not glare at Tullius, must not – damn.

"Ah, I believe I can be of help here." Esbern pipes up. "I anticipated the problem. While you were arranging this meeting, I was busy in the library of Sky Haven Temple. An unguessed trove of lost lore... but the important thing is that the Blades recorded many of the names of dragons they slew. Cross-referencing this with Delphine's map of dragon burial sites, I believe I've identified one of the dragons that Alduin has raised up."

"How does that help us?" Lydia asks.

"Don't you see?" Esbern cries. "The names of dragons are always three Words of Power – Shouts. By calling the dragon with the Voice, he will hear you, wherever he might be."

"Why would he come when called?" I'm sceptical.

"He's not compelled to, but dragons are prideful by nature and loathe to refuse a challenge. You Voice in particular is likely to intrigue this dragon, after your victory over Alduin. I think it very likely that he will be unable to resist investigating your call."

"So what's this dragon's name?"

"Ah, indeed. I'm no master of the Voice like these worthy gentlemen, but it is written here in this scroll. Od Ah Viing. 'Winged Snow Hunter', as I read it." Esbern tucks the parchment back into his bag as I somehow learn the Words without even seeing them.

It takes me a couple of seconds to recover, and as I do, the rest of the participants of the council rise and leave the table.

"I hope this truce gives you what you need. It won't last." Rikke says before hurrying after the General.

I see Delphine approaching me, but I'm not in the mood to talk, so I hurry from the room and out into the brisk cold air. Surprisingly, the sun is still a couple of hours from its midday peak. Unluckily, Delphine managed to catch up.

"There's one more thing." She says. "We know about Paarthurnax."

"Turns out he's a dragon. But he helped me." I say grumpily.

"That's fine – we needed his help. Now we don't, and it's long past time for him to pay for his crimes. And he's not just any dragon – he was the right hand of Alduin. He committed atrocities so infamous they are still remembered, thousands of years later. He needs to die – he deserves to die. And it falls to you to kill him. Until he's dead, well... I'm sorry, but we would dishonour our oaths as Blades if we continued to help you." With that, she leaves, catching up to Esbern a little way down the mountain. Huh.

I give them a head start, then head off down the mountain myself.

The journey to Whiterun is very quiet. The only living things we see between Ivarstead and Honningbrew are butterflies and goats. It's past noon when we enter the city, so I head off up to the market to sell off the excess loot I've picked up since my last visit to a shop. The Jarl won't be back from High Hrothgar yet – the rich tend to travel slowly – so instead I head down to the forge and talk to Adrianne.

"Got some good pieces out here if you're looking to buy. More inside." She says as I approach.

"Need any help around the forge?" I ask.

"Yes, actually. How about you smith me an iron dagger? Here's everything you need to make one. Go ahead." She doesn't actually offer to show me how – good thing I already know the basics of smithing. Soon, after a little work at the forge, I hold in my hand a brand new, slightly dull dagger. I head back over to the smith.

"Here's an iron dagger." I say, offering it to her. She takes it and inspects it.

"Not bad, but it's a little dull. How about you sharpen it up? Just need a bit of metal and the grindstone over there."

The grindstone is behind me, and after a little use, the edge of the blade shines sharply.

"I've sharpened the dagger." As if she didn't watch me do it. Why do I say these dumb things sometimes?

"This looks good." Adrianne says after running her finger over the edge. "You put time into your blades, they'll serve you well when you need them. You want to keep helping? How about you make some armour? Let's start by tanning some leather on the rack." She hands me a deer hide.

I'm not entirely sure how to do this, but Lydia seems to have some experience, so she shows me how, and soon I hold a heap of leather in my hands. I thought making leather took days?

"Here's that leather you wanted."

"Ah, good. A lot of weapons and armour need leather for straps, fittings, that kind of thing. Let's see if you can make a hide helmet. Here's the rest of what you need."

A few minutes later I hold a helmet in my hands. Seriously, why is the process so quick? Am I concentrating so hard I'm missing chunks of time? Looking at the sky, I see that I am – the sun has moved to mid-afternoon.

"Here's a hide helmet."

"I should hire you to be my assistant at this rate." Adrianne says appreciatively. "Let's improve the fit – take this leather to the workbench over there."

I'm unsure why I need to use the workbench until I see etched into the metal surface measurements for all types of body, for all types of armour. Fitting the measurements for the average male, I use the extra leather to lengthen the straps and extend the circumference of the helmet itself.

"I've tempered the helmet." I say, for want of a better word.

"You have talent!" Adrianne cries upon seeing my work. "Keep working at your craft, and you'll be a fine smith one day. Why don't you keep that dagger and helmet? Maybe you'll remember me when you're making Skyforge Steel, huh?" I smile my thanks, wondering why she said she needed help then insist I keep my creations, and head up to the inn. There are a couple of hours left until nightfall, and I didn't see the Jarl come through the gate, so I while away the time until dark cutting as much wood as Lydia and I can carry.

Together, we manage to carry 600 gold worth of wood for the innkeeper, but we still have to pay full price for the room!


	22. The Final Battle

It seems that since accepting the fact that I am Dragonborn, my dreams have eased up. They aren't as full of flames and death as they were – some could even be called normal! My body, however, has gotten into the rhythm of getting up early, so it is just before sunrise when I wake up.

Heading up to Dragonsreach, I'm a little nervous. I have a feeling things are coming to an end at last, but that also means I won't really know what to do with myself afterwards. Pushing open the great door, I decide I'll figure that out when the time comes, and head on up the steps.

The Jarl is still having his breakfast, so I leave him to it and instead head into the wizard's study to fiddle around with the enchanter's table. I enchant the armour I currently wear, and putting it back on I feel stronger and steadier of hand. I also put a flame spell on my bow and a frost spell on the warhammer, then head back out into the main hall just in time for Balgruuf to finish his fruity meal.

"May the gods watch over your battles, friend." He greets me.

"Are you ready to spring the trap on the dragon?" I ask, only just managing to keep the nervous wobble out of my voice.

"As I promised, my men stand ready. The great chains are oiled. We wait on your word."

"I'm ready. Let's go trap a dragon."

"My men know what to do. Make sure you do your part. I'm putting my city in your hands." He rises from his seat on the bench and heads towards the giant doors upstairs. Following him through, we enter a huge open space, the end of which is a stone semi-circle sticking out into the open air. High above our heads hangs a large wooden beam, curved to allow room beneath for the beast's head. Walking out into the open area, I take a deep breath and Shout with all my might.

"Od Ah Viing!"

A few moments later, a roar echoes across the frosty skies, and a great crimson dragon appears around the eastern wall. Just as I recover from my Shout, Odahviing swoops down and snatches a poor guard off of the porch and throws him over the edge of the battlements. As the creature turns, I use Dragonrend on him, and with a blast of blue energy, he is forced to land – luckily on the porch.

With the occasional whack from my frosty warhammer, I manage to lure him under the cover of the great roof, and with a creak and a slam, the beam descends, and a couple of arms appear from inside it, wrapping around the dragon's neck and trapping him fast.

"Nid!" Odahviing cries. "Horvutah med kodaav! Caught like a bear in a trap." He raises his head to peer at me with his dark reptilian eyes. "Zok frini grind ko grah drun viiki, Dovahkiin. Ah, I forget – you do not have the dovah speech. My... eagerness to meet you in battle was my... undoing, Dovahkiin. I salute your, hm, low cunning in devising such a grahmindol – stratagem. Zu'u bonaar. You went to a great deal of trouble to put me in this... humiliating position. Hind siiv Alduin, hmm? No doubt you want to know where to find Alduin?"

Making sure to stay out of reach of those massive teeth, I respond: "That's right. Where is he hiding?"

"Rinik vazah - an apt phrase. Alduin bovul. One reason I came to your call was to test your Thu'um for myself. Many of us have begun to question Alduin's lordship; whether his Thu'um was truly the strongest. Among ourselves, of course. Mu ni meyye. None were yet ready to openly defy him."

"You were telling me where to find Alduin?" It seems rambling is endemic among dragon-kind.

"Unslaad krosis. Innumerable pardons, I digress. He has travelled to Sovngarde to regain his strength, devouring the sillesejoor – the souls of the mortal dead. A privilege he jealously guards. His door to Sovngarde is at Skuldafn, one of his ancient fanes high in the eastern mountains. Mindoraan pah ok middovahhe lahvraan til. I surely do not need to warn you that all his remaining strength is marshalled there. Zu'u lost ofan hin laan... now that I have answered your question, you will allow me to go free?" Odahviing says hopefully. How pitiful.

"Not until Alduin is defeated." I respond.

"Ah, well. Hmm... krosis. There is one detail about Skuldafn I neglected to mention."

"Tell me what you know then."

"Only this. You have the Thu'um of a dovah, but without the wings of one, you will never set foot in Skuldafn. Of course, I could fly you there. But not while imprisoned like this."

Great. Either I set this dragon free to take me to Skuldafn then continue his reign of terror over his little patch of territory, free him to promptly eat me and all the other people here before continuing his reign of terror over his little patch of territory, or keep him imprisoned and allow Alduin to return at full strength and end the world. Gotta love an easy decision.

"...fine. I'll set you free if you promise to take me to Skuldafn."

"Orukaan koraav gein miraad. It is wise to recognise when you only have one choice. And you can trust me. Zu'u ni tahrodiis. Alduin has proven himself unworthy to rule. I go my own way now. Free me, and I will carry you to Skuldafn."

As I retreat, heading towards the stairs up to where the controls for the trap are, Farengar eases through the great doors and trots up to the captured dragon. I hesitate to watch what can only be an amusing scene.

"Incredible!" The wizard cries, then addresses the beast. "Uh – sir, you have no idea how long I have waited for such an opportunity! I would be most appreciative if you would permit me to perform some er, tests on you. Purely in the interests of the advancement of knowledge."

"Begone, mage. Do not test my promise to the Dovahkiin." Growls Odahviing.

"I assure you," Farengar says as he walks around the wooden arm of the trap. "you will not even notice me. Most of them are hardly painful at all to a large dragon such as yourself."

"Farengar, very bad idea; even for you." Warns Irileth, to no avail.

"Surely you wouldn't miss a few scales... or a small amount of blood..." I hear the wizard say from behind the dragon.

"Joor mey!" cries the beast. "What are you doing back there?!" Suddenly, Odahviing breathes a great gout of fire at the stone wall in front of him.

"Farengar! Enough, fool!" Cries Balgruuf, and Farengar makes a very speedy retreat back inside.

Smiling to myself, I head up the stairs and grab the attention of the guard standing next to the trap control.

"I can't believe that worked!" Comes the amazed cry from behind the helmet.

"Open the trap."

"You sure about that? You want to let that dragon loose after all the trouble to catch him in there?"

"Yes, I'm sure." As sure as I can be.

"Your funeral. Someone else is going to have to help you get him back in there again." He turns and yells across the space to his companion at the other control. "Get ready to open the trap!"

I head back downstairs as the guard behind me says: "This seems like a really bad idea to me."

"Carry on, soldier." The Jarl reassures. "This is all part of the Dragonborn's plan."

At the bottom of the steps, I turn to my stalwart if dim companion and ask her to stay behind. I don't think Odahviing would be all too willing to carry the both of us, and besides, I don't think there is enough room between the great spines that line his back.

"Sure. I'll be at home if you need me." Lydia says, then heads on into Dragonsreach as behind me the great trap opens with the scrape of metal against wood.

I jog towards the open area as Odahviing turns around, twisting his head around as though stiff, even though he wasn't in the trap all that long.

"By all the gods..." I hear Irileth mutter as I pass her.

"Faas nu, zini dein ruthi ahst vaal." Odahviing says, crawling towards the open space. We reach the battlements at about the same time. "Saraan uth – I await your command, as promised. Are you ready to see the world as only a dovah can?"

"I'm ready. Take me to Skuldafn."

"Zok brit uth! I warn you, once you've flown the skies of Keizaal, your envy of the dov will only increase."

I'm still hesitant to climb on, yet eventually I do.

"You're either the bravest person I've ever met, or the biggest fool." Irileth says as I do so.

"May Kynareth guard you while you pass through her realm!" Cries the Jarl as we take off.

"Amativ! Mu bo kotin stinselok!" Odahviing cries, and with a deep swoop we leave Whiterun behind and head towards the mountainous border between Skyrim and Morrowind.

The view is amazing – the sky is so clear I swear, looking south, I can see the White-Gold Tower in the Imperial City! We're so high up I can't even see the giants wandering the volcanic plains of Eastmarch far below. It is a little hard to breathe, though – must be because of the speed of the wind blasting in my face.

Soon, we are spiralling down into an enormous valley, in which sprawls a massive dark stone ruin. With a heavy thump, we land atop a stone covered burial mound, and I slide off of the dragon's scaly neck.

"This is as far as I can take you. Krif voth ahkrin. I will look for your return, or Alduin's." With that last, Odahviing climbs back into the skies and leaves. I'm on my own.

Drawing my bow, I sneak towards the path into the complex. Ahead of me, I can see a pair of Draugr guarding the stairs, so I fire an arrow at the first, throwing it backwards and causing the other to draw its bow and head towards its comrade's corpse – and straight into my second shot.

I've barely gone two steps forward when a dragon appears, roaring as it glides towards me. The golden glint of its scales tells me it's not Odahviing changing his mind, so I draw the katana and, as it whooshes overhead, use the Dragonrend Shout to bring it to land. As it crashes to earth, I land the first couple of hits on its scaled nose. Using my usual Shout-and-sword combo, I barely give the creature time to react, and soon it is a smouldering heap of bones.

Finally I am allowed to leave the burial site, and I head up the stairs and round a toppled pillar – and almost bump into another Draugr, taking us both by surprise. Since I already had my sword in my hand, and its weapon was still strapped to its back, it was decorating the floor before it was even half ready to attack. Swapping back to my bow, I continue to sneak along the path, and spot another pair of Draugr just before they spy me.

Shooting a bow is rather difficult while a frost spell is being cast on you, but I somehow manage it and soon both of the porcupine-like corpses lie strewn across my path. Ahead of me is another open space; opposite me is an old tower, a single entrance at the bottom and two doors onto a balcony above. I'm halfway across the space when another dragon crash-lands behind me.

Spinning around to face it, I tuck my bow away and draw my sword as quick as I can, and Shout at the beast just as it lunges at me with its great sharp fangs. I jump back just in time - a massive canine scrapes against my armour. A half-second slower and I'd have lost an arm!

The bite throws me off balance halfway through my Shout, and the rebound of the lost effort feels like I've been punched in the gut. Winded, I'm finding it a little hard to swing my sword; any hits I land merely bounce off.

"Skuldafn fen kos dinok!" The dragon shouts at me as I finally recover. Gritting my teeth, I swing my sword at its face as hard as I can, causing it to flinch.

I take my chance. Using Dragonrend, and making it flinch again, I attack with all my might. The dragons here seem to be tougher than the ones back down in Skyrim. Suddenly, with a sputter, the enchantment on the katana wears off! It must have run out of charge or something. Making a mental note to recharge it when I'm done with this dragon, I continue slashing and hacking, occasionally Shouting, until the beast matches the one I left on the mound.

Continuing on toward the tower, I duck inside before anything else can have a go at me. Quietly shutting the door behind me, I can hear Draugr shuffling around, one in a side room and another on the wooden ramp spiralling up the centre of the main room. Drawing bow again, I nock an arrow and draw it to my cheek, aiming as best I can from the doorway at the Draugr in the side room. Unfortunately, I miss, catching the attention of not only my target, but also the Draugr on the ramp. As it turns out, there are two in the side room – both of them rushing at me angrily with their swords. It only takes a couple of arrows each to kill them all though.

Heading as silently as I can up the ramp, I find another pair of Draugr waiting for me, which I shoot as fast as I can before they can hit me with their huge axes. In the middle of the room is a chest, which doesn't have that much in it, but I take what interests me then head back down the ramp and out into the massive courtyard. Sneaking up towards the stairs to the north, I manage to avoid being noticed by the Draugr patrolling along the bridge above me. Something makes me look up to my right, and I spot a trio of Draugr hanging around a chest. Knowing I'll want to find out what is in that chest later, I nock an arrow and send it flying into a Draugr's back.

The three of them spin around so fast I'm amazed their arms don't fly off or something. Somehow they spot me lurking in the shadows beneath the footbridge and they all go rushing off westward towards the stairs down to my level.

Instead of going to meet them I head toward the ruined tower in the middle of the courtyard I am now in. I don't quite make it in time however – two of the Draugr come rushing around the corner, and I have just time to draw my sword before they attack me. I'm not used to fighting multiple enemies on my own. I keep expecting Lydia to come rushing up with her great-sword to hack them to pieces. But she isn't here now – I'm just going to have to do my best on my own.

I attack one while dodging the other as best as I can, and eventually I manage to kill one. I chug a health potion as I turn to face the other one, blocking its attacks with its huge axe somehow with only one hand on my sword hilt. I'm wishing I'd chosen to use a shield rather than rely on a healing spell in my left hand to heal any damage I take; sometimes that just isn't quite enough. But then, if I had a shield, I probably wouldn't have any health potions left, so I think I'll stick to my current choice.

Soon the second Draugr is dead at my feet, and I turn into the ruined tower and climb the wooden steps – how they haven't rotted away by now gods only know – to loot the chest at the top. Again, there isn't much inside worth the effort, but I take what there is anyway and head back down – bumping straight into the third Draugr. Damn – what is wrong with me today that I can't take any of these creatures by surprise anymore?

Hacking away at the creature's shrivelled face, I marvel at how cold in battle I've become. At first, in Helgen, I was thinking 'oh no, I have to kill things?', whereas now, I'm merely wondering how effective I am at fighting my enemies. That must be what the adventurer's life does to you – or at least one where you often have to fight to survive.

The Draugr, returned to the peace of death, is no longer a problem for me, so I pull out my bow yet again and head toward the stairs, only to be spotted within seconds by some patrolling Draugr at the top. This time there are at least four of them, but three of them are using bows and the sole axe wielder is the furthest away, so I ignore the archers for now and concentrate on finishing off the warrior before it gets close enough to detach a limb. Skipping out of the way of the arrows launched my way, it takes three shots to kill the axe-man. It is really rather difficult to aim when you also have to concentrate on dodging arrows, but I manage it, and since the Draugr are also attempting to dodge my shots they are none too accurate themselves.

Soon there is a small heap of bodies lying atop the steps, the axe wielder slowly sliding down them. I was lucky enough to have just enough of the arrows I was using left to finish off the last of them, so I sling a fresh quiver of arrows onto my back as I cautiously climb the steps – old Nordic arrows; how fitting.

At the top of the stairs is the main entrance to the temple, but ignoring it for now I turn right and head towards the northern tower. It is built much the same as the southern one, and contains the same enemies too, all easily killed with a couple of shots from my bow. There is, if anything, even less in this tower than there was in the other, so I leave the tower and head towards the chest that I liberated before. Prising it open, inside there is a potion and a small pile of gold. How the potion has stayed fresh since whenever it was placed in this chest, I have no idea – maybe it's because of how cold it is up here in the mountains?

OK, time for the main event, as it were. I head back towards the massive doors into the temple and push one open.

With an echoing scrape against the stone floor, the ancient door slowly opens, revealing an absolutely huge entry room. It is so big that the light from the braziers barely light the area, but there is just enough light to see that there is nothing worth looting in here. I have a choice of paths – one on the right strewn with the rubble of a fallen support column, and one on the left which seems clear. Approaching it, however, proves otherwise – there are a couple of very obvious traps in the middle of the path. Luckily, there is room to go around them, so I do, reaching a short set of stairs into a room lined with empty coffins and a table with burial urns on and around it. The previous occupants of the coffins now roam around the room, growling under their breath, so I do them a favour and put them out of their misery. I seem to be back on track with my sneak attacks now, so after looting the urns I continue on to the next room.

In here are three puzzle pillars, two of which face their solution. Along the eastern and the western walls are a pair of sarcophagi, the first of which crash open as I enter the room. Dispatching the Draugr is easy; neither of them notice me before my arrows smack into them. Turning the eastern pillar so the snake faces its equivalent image opposite, I duck around towards the western pillar – and awaken the Draugr in the remaining coffins.

Despite my scuffling footsteps being enough to wake them, they still seem to have no actual idea of where I am, so I manage to kill them both while they are still unaware of me. Strolling the rest of the way across the room, I turn the west pillar to show the fish and then head toward the central pillar.

The answer for this one isn't as obvious – there are two grates, and above each is its own solution. Taking a gamble, I turn it to the bird and give the lever a few feet in front a tug – and the right-hand grate rises into the ceiling.

Heading toward the opening, I find that the passage beyond has completely collapsed, only a chest surviving in the rubble. It holds almost nothing, like most of the chests in these ruins, so after pocketing the meagre loot I head back into the room, turn the central pillar to the snake and pull the lever again, opening the left grate.

This passage is clear, and leads to a smaller room down a wooden ramp, in which a Draugr lurks near the table in the centre, a wrapped corpse on top along with a couple of urns. Drawing an arrow to my cheek, I carefully aim at the Draugr's back, and loose. The force of the arrow slamming into its back throws it across the table, to slide to a rest at the foot of a sarcophagus.

I'm halfway down the ramp when the sarcophagus, and another up behind me somewhere, crashes open and more undead appear. I can't decide whether to attack the one in front of me or the one behind me, but I suppose it doesn't really matter, because no matter which way I turn there'll always be one behind me. I choose the one in front of me first, sending an arrow into its chest before it is close enough to hit at me with its weapon. I whip out my sword and swipe at the creature, killing it just as its companion arrives. I turn just in time to dodge its first attack, a downward slash at my arm. Returning the sentiments, my sword drives through the Draugr's chest, then up out of its shoulder as I try to tug it free. Luckily, this is all it takes to kill it, so I turn and go through the passage behind the coffin opened by the Draugr.

The web strung across the walls forewarns me of the spiders lurking at the top of the stairs around the next corner. I manage to dodge the flying wodge of webby spit, and slay the two largest, but the smaller one has crossed the space in the meantime and attempts to bite my ankle.

If it was anything else ineffectively gumming my steel boots, I'd be smiling like an idiot and saying 'Aww!'; spiders, however, don't quite cut it. My sword soon cuts a new mouth for the monster, right in the top of its head.

Continuing along the webbed corridor, I cut through the webbing covering the doorway – after stealing as many spider eggs as I could find, of course. Crushed spider eggs are a component of a pretty effective poison, as I found out a few days ago. The next corridor also contains a few spiders, which don't last very long either against my elven-made bow.

The next room, which I reach after cutting through a web to loot an almost-empty chest, holds a couple of shuffling Draugr wandering around and across a bridge crossing the room. There is also another pillar puzzle here, one pillar on front of me and another couple of pillars at either end of the bridge, each in its own alcove. Above the ones at the bridge, the answer is above them, but I can't find the one for the one in front of me.

I manage to sneak-attack the first Draugr, catching the vague attention of the other as it topples from the small platform to the floor below. The still-'living' one trots over to where the first was standing, giving me an easy shot to slay it too.

Passing the central pillar holding up the bridge, I find a chest (also holding practically nothing) and the answer to the final pillar.

Returning to the front of the room, I turn the central pillar so the snake is facing the front, then climb the wooden ramp and follow the short corridor round to the first alcove, where I turn the pillar to the bird. Across the bridge, I turn the last pillar to the fish, then return to the top of the central pillar and pull on the lever, lowering the wooden drawbridge and opening the path onwards.

Before pushing open the doors to the next room, I pause for a breather and a bite to eat. I'm starving – it's actually quite amazing how little food one can survive on; but I still need to eat, even if the middle of a ruined temple isn't exactly the prettiest picnic spot. Actually, come to think of it, I don't think I've eaten properly in several days; I never seem to have time, running from city to ruin to city, trying to save the world. I'm surprised I haven't wasted away already!

Time to move on. Dusting the last crumbs off of my armour, I push the door open and ready my bow once more.

In the next room, shuffle a trio of undead, growling to each other - almost like they are holding a conversation. They barely flinch when the first is felled by my first shot; it's only when the second joins it on the floor that the last one really reacts, hauling its battle-axe off of its back. With a thunk, my last arrow drives right through its skull, and it returns to its original state.

There is literally nothing in this room, so I follow the corridor toward a small chamber dominated by a wooden spiral staircase in the centre of the room. I don't go straight in, however: in the doorway is a raised plate, obviously the pressure plate to set off a trap. At the foot of the stairs is a puddle of oil, though, and part of me wants to set it off anyway. Giving in, I step onto the plate, then leap sideways out of the way of the flying ceramic of the lamp falling into the oil. This trap turns out to be a 'twofer' – after the oil is lit, little darts come flying out of the wall and down the corridor, clattering against the far wall.

At the back of the room, something glinting in the firelight catches my eye, and crossing the room I find it is a soul gem sitting on a shelf. Taking that, I turn and spot a gem sat on top of a skull on another shelf in a hidden alcove.

Climbing the stairs leads me into a large room, the exit of which is barred by a massive metal grate. On the other side of the room is a smaller side room, inside which two Draugr stand watching over the room I am in – and not doing a very good job of it; neither has spotted me. Opening the door to the room they're waiting in, I find the floor in front of the door is covered in oil – and a ceramic lamp hanging loosely above. As I draw an arrow to shoot it down, the sarcophagus that is also in the room crashes open and another Draugr steps into the room – straight into the flaming explosion of the igniting oil. One of the other Draugr rushes over to investigate the noise, and the two creatures burn to death. The third, however, seems to have some brain cells left, and it doesn't move from where it hovers in its alcove. This doesn't save it from my arrow, however. In the other alcove sits the lever that opens the grate, so I tug it and head on through the corridor.

This one is long, wide and sloping, and the floor is covered with oil; in the middle of the puddle is a metal pressure plate obviously meant to drop the ceramic lamp that hangs from the ceiling. Instead, I shoot it down and wait for the oil to burn out before heading over to the chest sat in front of one of the support columns. Around a corner, and I find myself in an identical corridor, this one flat and ending in a puzzle door. Lurking in front of it was a Draugr, so I duck behind one of the columns and shoot, sending the creature slamming against the door, and the sparkling object clutched in its hand clattering to the floor.

The object turns out to be the claw for opening the door, the palm etched with a fox, a moth and a dragon. After turning the door to the right facing, I use the claw to open the door.

I'm starting to feel tired now. It seems like an age since I woke up in the Bannered Mare; I wonder just how long I have been in this remote place? I could really do with Lydia's company, too – it really is quite lonely dungeon-diving on your own.

The next room contains a Word Wall. Touching the Wall, I learn Storm – now I can use the weather against my enemies; memories that definitely aren't my own show me calling lightning, the bolts striking friend and foe alike. If I do use this, it will definitely be as a last resort.

Passing a burnt corpse on the way out of the room, I wander along the corridor and reach a pair of large doors. I can feel an icy breeze blowing through the cracks under the doors – finally, I've reached the exit! In a side room, there are a couple of potions and a few coins, which I take before pulling open the ancient wood and slipping through.

Outside, night has fallen. It's already past midnight, judging by the position of the moons, and a pair of Draugr shuffle around near the top of another ruined tower. Unlike the ones inside, these ones take a little more effort to kill. Obviously the trouble I was having before was down to the ones outside being stronger than the ones inside.

At the bottom of the ruined tower is a chest, the contents of which turn out to be better than all the stuff I've found throughout all of Skuldafn. Climbing back up and turning the corner past the way back inside, I spy another pair of Draugr shambling around near the bottom of a staircase towards a strange roaring light. That must be the entrance to Sovngarde.

Shooting the Draugr dead is as easy as I expected it to be, but I still get a bit of a shock – watching me from atop a couple of decorative pillars sit a pair of dragons. I set my feet, nock an arrow... and realise that neither is actually attacking me. Warily, I climb the steps and see ahead of me a floating robed figure gliding up a short set of steps to where a staff stands, stuck into the ground. It removes the staff, and the portal to Sovngarde closes.

As it turns away, I shoot an arrow at it – somehow doing it damage despite the fact there is barely anything of it to hit. I continue shooting at it as it retaliates, blasting lightning at my ducking and dodging figure. Eventually, an arrow blasts it into a heap of ash. Replacing the arrow I had grabbed, I sheathe my bow and walk over to the dusty pile.

On top of the neat little heap sits a mask, which I pick up and tuck into my satchel before retrieving the staff and climbing the steps towards the portal lock. Neither of the dragons reacted to my slaying of the creature – maybe these ones agreed to watch for my arrival, but unlike the others decided to merely follow their orders to the letter, nothing more.

I wedge the end of the staff into the notch in the lock, and with a roar the portal re-opens. I take a deep breath, and leap in.

Light. Blinding, bright white light.

After what feels like an age, my feet hit solid ground, and I open my eyes to an amazing sight. Across a misted valley sits a massive hall – the fabled Hall of Valour – beneath a roiling red and purple sky; the colours skimming around a great black... hole. Lowering my gaze again, it comes to rest on a tall hill sticking up out of the mist, a broken Word Wall standing atop it.

I need to find out how I can slay Alduin here – someone in the Hall may know, so I start down the steps into the valley. As I approach the strange mist, I use Clear Skies to blast clear the path, accidentally causing a glimmering figure dressed in Stormcloak armour to stumble. The soul catches his balance and approaches.

"Turn back traveller!" He warns me. "Terror waits within this mist! Many have braved the shadowed vale, but vain is all courage against the peril that guards the way!" Obviously, death turns even the stoic Nords into poets.

"Who are you?" I ask. This fellow may not have any living family left; someone should remember him.

"Near Giant's Gap, in the gloom before dawn, we marched unsuspecting into the Imperials' trap. Then we stood and fought, our shield-wall defending until by dawn's light the Legion's tanks wavered. But I never knew if night's end brought victory – a swift flying arrow to Sovngarde carried me."

Oh well. So much for a name. "What's this mist?"

"I do not know, but none have passed through. Alduin, his hunger insatiable, hunts the lost souls snared within this shadowed valley. Can you lead the way to where Shor's hall waits, beckoning us on to welcome long sought?"

"Yes, it's at the far end of the valley from here." How could he have gotten lost? The valley isn't that long. Unless there's more to this mist than meets the eye... I edge away from the approaching tendrils.

"I saw it fair when first I trod this long-sought path." The soldier soul says wistfully. "The pain and fear vanished, dreamlike, and a vision beckoned – Shor's hall shimmering across the clouded vale. But quenched was hope by the shrouding mist; my mind is darkened. I've lost the way and wander blindly. Hurry! Before Alduin your life devours, bring word to Shor's hall of our hard fate!"

"Don't worry," I try to reassure the poor fellow. "I'm here to kill Alduin."

"Beware! The World-Eater waits within the mist!" Warns the soul, before he wanders away into the fog.

Shouting my way through the mist, I get glimpses of the beauty of the valley. A bank of mountain flowers here, a babbling brook crossing the path there. Soon, I'm on the other side of the valley facing a short set of steps up to a massive bridge formed by the skeleton of an enormous creature. Beyond the bridge looms Shor's hall, but my focus is mainly on the huge Nord standing guard on the bridge.

"What brings you, wayfarer grim, to wander here is Sovngarde, soul's end, Shor's gift to the honoured dead?" He asks me when I approach.

"Who are you?" I ask in awe.

"I am Tsun, shield-thane to Shor. The Whalebone Bridge he bade me guard and winnow all those souls whose heroic end sent them here, to Shor's lofty hall, where welcome well-earned awaits those I judge fit to join that fellowship of honour." He responds, sounding both grand and meek at the same time, somehow.

"I seek entrance to the Hall of Valour." I inform him.

"No shade are you, as usually here passes, but living, you dare the land of the dead. By what right do you request entry?"

"By the right of birth." I guess, seeing as the Dragonborn is a Nordic thing. "I am Dragonborn."

"Ah! It's been too long since last I faced a doom-driven hero of the dragon blood."

"Can I enter the Hall of Valour?" I ask. I think I know what is going to happen next, however.

"Living or dead, by decree of Shor, none may pass this perilous bridge 'til I judge them worthy by the Warrior's Test." I knew it.

Tsun draws the great axe from his chest and blasts me back across the stone floor with a Shout. Drawing my warhammer as I regain my balance, I take a swing at the approaching near-giant. After blocking my comparatively weak attacks, Tsun grunts and sheathes his axe again.

"You fought well." He says approvingly. "I find you worthy. It is long since one of the living has entered here. May Shor's favour follow you and your errand."

Carefully I cross the bridge, and push open the tall door into the Hall of Valour – to be greeted by a great grizzled Nord.

"Welcome, Dragonborn! Our door has stood empty since Alduin first set his soul snare here. By Shor's command we sheathed our blades and ventured not the vale's dark mist. But three await your word to loose their fury upon the perilous foe. Gormlaith the Fearless, glad-hearted in battle; Hakon the Valiant, heavy-handed warrior; Felldir the Old, far-seeing and grim." After his speech, the Nordic hero walks off towards the giant spits in the centre of the hall.

This place is amazing; the golden goblets never seem empty, and there is the sound of music and fighting coming from both ends of the hall. Standing proud at one end of the long tables are the three warriors I saw in the Elder Scroll-induced flashback. I weave through the people in the hall to join them.

"At long last!" Cries Gormlaith. "Alduin's doom is now ours to seal – just speak the word and with high hearts we'll hasten forth to smite the worm wherever he lurks."

"Hold, comrades." Felldir speaks up. "Let is counsel take before battle is blindly joined. Alduin's mist is more than a snare; its shadowy gloom is his shield and cloak. But, with four Voices joined, our valour combined, we can blast the mist and bring him to battle."

Hakon agrees: "Felldir speaks wisdom – the World-Eater, coward, fears you, Dragonborn. We must drive away his mist, Shouting together, and then unsheathe our blades in desperate battle with our black-winged foe."

"To battle, my friends!" Gormlaith, unable to wait much longer, draws her sword. "The fields will echo with the clamour of war, our wills undaunted."

The four of us head toward and through the towering doors of the Hall, run across the Whalebone Bridge and line up in front of the steps.

"The eyes of Shor are upon you this day." Tsun says behind us. "Defeat Alduin, and destroy his soul-snare."

"We cannot fight the foe in this mist!" Cries Felldir.

"Clear Skies!" Gormlaith yells beside me. "Combine our Shouts!"

I take a deep breath, and all four of us Shout with all our might, blasting away a great space in front of us.

"Ven Mul Riik!" Comes a great Shout echoing across the boiling sky, and the mist reforms.

"Again!" Demands the golden haired woman.

"Again, as one! The World-Eater fears us!" Felldir repeats.

"Lok Vah Koor!" the four Voices again clear the area in front of us, which is soon refilled with another Shout from Alduin.

"Does his strength have no end?" Hakon cries hopelessly at the other end of the line. "Is our struggle in vain?"

"Stand fast!" Reassures Gormlaith, tightening her grip on her blade. "His strength is failing. Once more, and his might will be broken!"

"His power crumbles – do not pause for breath!" The old man says.

Again, we all Shout, but this time the mist is not recreated. Over the tall hilltop, the great black shape of the World-Eater appears, his Shout calling down a rain of flaming rock.

"The endless wait gives way to battle! Alduin's doom, his death or ours!" Gormlaith ecstatically yells, using her sword to point at the beast – as if we couldn't see the monster swooping our way.

"Joor Zah Frul!" I Shout at Alduin, bathing him in the blue energy that forces the concept of mortality on dragons, and with a shuddering thump he lands in the clear space in front of us. Drawing the katana, which I have decided to name Dragonbane, I charge, yelling incoherently, at the black beast. Beside me, the three ancient heroes copy my action; Felldir uses the frosty Shout I've seen them using before. Every so often I repeat Dragonrend, to make sure Alduin stays on the ground and within whacking range. Soon, suddenly, the battle is over.

"Zu'u unslaad! Zu'u nis oblaan!" Alduin screams as he is bathed in golden light. I take a few steps back, and then suddenly, Alduin's scaly hide explodes away, revealing a disgusting, slimy form, which then proceeds to melt, the disgusting remains exploding again – and there is nothing left of the World-Eater.

The mist clears, revealing the golden vale in all its glory. It is a truly beautiful sight, and I sincerely hope with all my heart that when I do eventually die, I end up here.

"This was a mighty deed!" Cries Tsun jubilantly behind us. "The doom of Alduin encompassed at last, and cleansed is Sovngarde of his evil snare. They will sing of this battle in Shor's hall forever. But your fate lies elsewhere. When you have completed your count of days, I may welcome you again with glad friendship, and bid you join the blessed feasting." It seems that the ancient Nords are more welcoming of the other races than their descendants. It gladdens me, somehow, that no matter how badly I am treated on Nirn, I shall have a glad welcome when I pass.

"All hail the Dragonborn! Hail her with great praise!" Comes the cry from all around me; not only are the ancient heroes of the Dragon Wars cheering me, but all the previously-lost souls in the valley have arrived and are rejoicing.

It is time for me to go home, however. I don't want to outstay my welcome; the living do not really belong in the realm of the dead.

"When you are ready to re-join the living, just bid me so and I will send you back." Tsun says when I approach.

"I am ready to return to Tamriel."

"Return now to Nirn, with this rich boon from Shor, my lord: a Shout to bring a hero from Sovngarde in your hour of need." Suddenly, I learn three new Words, and with them come the knowledge of how to use the Shout: one word brings one hero, two will bring another, and three will bring yet a different warrior to aid in my fight.

"Nahl Daal Vus!" Tsun Shouts, and I am bathed again in brilliant white light.

When my feet hit solid earth, the light clears to reveal I am standing atop the Throat of the World, surrounded by dozens of dragons. I keep my blade sheathed, however; not only am I greatly out-numbered, but also something tells me none of the beasts wish to fight.

"Alduin mahlaan." Rises a great cry around me.

"Sahrot thur qanaraan." Says one, and he and another take off to fly in circles around the mountaintop.

"Alduin mahlaan." The group repeats.

A second dragon speaks up: "Dovahkiin los ok dovahkriid." Again, he and a friend rise to the skies.

"Alduin mahlaan."

"Thu'umii los nahlot." A third dragon cries. There are now more in the sky than there are on the rock.

"Alduin mahlaan." The cry is raised again. Several of the dragons above me are spouting fire occasionally as they fly.

"Mu los vomir." The last of the strange dragons climbs into the clouds, and soon the only ones not in the air are Paarthurnax and I.

"So, it is done." The old dragon says. "Alduin dilon. The Eldest is no more, he who came before all others, and has always been."

"Alduin brought this on himself." I reply.

"Indeed. Alduin wahlaan daanii. His doom was written when he claimed for himself the lordship that properly belongs to Bormahu – our father Akatosh. But I cannot celebrate his fall. Zu'u tiiraaz ahst ok mah. He was my brother once. This world will never be the same."

"The world is a better place without Alduin."

"Perhaps. At least it will continue to exist. Grik los lein. And, as you told me once, the next world will have to take care of itself. Ful nii los. Even I cannot see past time's ending. But I forget myself; krosis. So los mid fahdon. Melancholy is an easy trap for a dovah to fall into. You have won a mighty victory. Sahrot krongrah – one that will echo through all the ages of this world for those who have eyes to see. Savour your triumph, Dovahkiin. This is not the last of what you will write upon the currents of time."

Paarthurnax spreads his tattered wings and joins the dragons circling the mountain. He pauses and hovers near me for a moment.

"Goraan!" He cries. "I feel younger than I have in many an age! Many of the dovahhe are now scattered across Keizaal. Without Alduin's lordship, they may yet bow to the vahzen... rightness of my Thu'um. But willing or no, they will hear it! Fare thee well, Dovahkiin!" With that, he flies off.

Above me, one of the dragons spirals down and lands in front of me.

"Pruzah wundunne wah wuth gein." Odahviing growls. "I wish the old one luck in his... quest. But I doubt many will wish to exchange Alduin's lordship for the tyranny of Paarthurnax's Way of the Voice. As for myself, you've proven your mastery twice over. Thuri Dovahkiin. I gladly acknowledge the power of your Thu'um. Zu'u Odahviing. Call me when you have need, and I will come if I can." With a flurry of disturbed snow, the great red dragon re-joins those above.

Yawning, I turn and start down the mountain. Shouting my way through the mist, I somehow feel different. There's the rush of victory, of course, but there is something else I can't quite put my finger on. I'm still contemplating this when I push open the great metal doors of High Hrothgar and find one of the stone beds. As I lay down, I discover what it is.

I remember everything.


End file.
